


Bloodline

by steelrose



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Allana Tyrell Is Not Nice, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Daenerys Is Not A Targaryen, F/M, Infidelity, Jon Snow's Name is Jaehaerys, Jon is married, Jonerys, Lyanna Stark Lives, Minor Jon Snow/OC, Minor Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrose/pseuds/steelrose
Summary: Decades have passed since the defeat of Robert’s Rebellion, and now Jaehaerys Targaryen rules over the Seven Kingdoms with an iron grip. As the last surviving descendant of the Targaryen line, Jon knows that it’s his duty to ensure the bloodline continues. His marriage of twelve years has been fruitless and everyone has begun to notice that his patience with Allana Tyrell is waning. Monford Velaryon seizes his opportunity and takes his beautiful young daughter Daenerys, to the King’s court. Duty-bound to her family, Daenerys will do all that she can to please them - even if that means sacrificing her honour for a crown.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 450
Kudos: 1463





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story took on a life of it's own. While writing the next chapter of 'The Duchess and the Wolf', this idea came to me and I had to run with it. The people of Tumblr also seemed to think so too. I hope that you'll enjoy this story. Obviously, Jon is married to someone else in this story. However, I am going to reiterate the point that this is a Jonerys HEA story. 
> 
> For those waiting for the Duchess update, it's coming in the next few days!

****

****

**311 AC**

**The Driftmark**

Waves rock gently against the surrounding rocks as dusk descends over the Driftmark, causing another day to come to an end. The sun dips low in the sky, casting its final rays of warmth across the land while Daenerys lies on the beach, feeling it stretch over her body, glistening off the grains of salt on the surface of her skin. She dries out on the sand with her petite limbs laid out, with a content sigh falling from her lips as the warm wind ruffles her hair. 

The fabric of her ivory gown is almost sheer as it clings to her body but Daenerys doesn’t mind, she has never been shy about her curves - which often results in a disagreement with her lovely mother. Elinor Lefford has patience for many things, Daenerys’ penchant for nudity is not one of them. 

Her loyal handmaidens have not yet been sent to look for her, like a flock of clucking hens, which means her mother has not yet noticed her absence. Daenerys had been asked to attend high harp lessons, despite mastering the instrument many years prior. She has been raised from birth to be the perfect lady, although perfection is certainly a hard thing to achieve. A talent for something does not equal interest, which she has also argued on many occasions. She would much rather be down by the water or sat astride her silver horse. 

“Lady Daenerys!” A voice calls. 

The pale-haired lady looks back towards the castle, to where one of her handmaidens, Bethany, stands to wait for her on the steps. With a sigh of exasperation, Daenerys lifts herself from the ground and collects the seafoam green cloak. She shakes the fabric to dust off some of the sand, before throwing it around her shoulders over her soiled dress. Her mother would have a fit if Daenerys were seen in such a state, especially since Lords from other vassal houses of the Crownlands have started visiting regularly. She’s almost certain of their intentions. 

Daenerys walks across the beach slowly, tucking a smile into the corner of her mouth as she walks. She wonders if Lord Sunglass will visit. Of all of her admirers, he is certainly the most charming and fair to look at. Although, she knows that her choice in her husband will undoubtedly be made by her father. 

Once she reaches Bethany, the handmaiden begins to fuss. Petite hands nestle into the tangled strands of Daenerys’ silver-gold hair, attempting to tame them despite the saltwater. 

“Do we have visitors?” Daenerys asks as they walk inside the castle, which is mostly quiet. Some of the servants are in the hallways, but most avert their gaze as she passes through. 

Bethany shakes her head of mousy brown waves, while her fingers continue to weave themselves through Daenerys’ own hair. “ There are no visitors but your mother says that Lord Velaryon is due to arrive within the hour.” 

“Wonderful.”

It has been many moons since she has seen her father. King Jaehaerys sent a raven for him to travel to King’s Landing, and that’s where he has remained ever since. The circumstances of her father’s departure have not been shared with her, but Daenerys has a curious mind and so she listened around corners to the conversations between her mother and bastard uncle Aurane. There’s a threat overseas from a man claiming to be the King’s deceased older brother. 

She strips off her gown the moment she enters her chambers, where a bath with scented oils has already been prepared for her. Sliced oranges and rose petals float on the surface of the water, which looks almost milky from all the different substances which her handmaidens have poured in. Her mother has always been very serious about what goes into the bathwater, to make the skin both soft and well scented. Elinor Lefford has often valued beauty above all else. 

“There is not enough time to wash your hair,” Bethany murmurs, still fixated on the salty strands of Daenerys’ hair. 

“That is fine, Bethany. Braid it for me,” she orders softly, while the other handmaidens flit about the chambers. Daenerys lowers herself into the bath and leans back, allowing her handmaiden to fiddle with her hair. She stares out at the balcony, where she can see the gentle sway of the sea. Her bath has been situated in the archway right in front of her balcony, where gauzy materials drape over pillars which have seahorses engraved into the pale stone. 

Her home is her sanctuary.

Once Daenerys is bathed and her skin has been massaged with oils, she is dressed in a fresh gown. She is ready to be seen, without causing shame to her mother. In private she may offer small challenges to Elinor, but in public, she is always the dutiful daughter. 

As she makes her way through the castle, she begins to hear her father’s booming laughter as it echoes down the corridors. Instantly, she begins to smile. Daenerys has always been close to her father, who has allowed her to be given a man’s education, just like her brothers. 

When she enters her father’s solar, he is stood beside the roaring fire in a circle with her mother and two brothers: Lucerys and Marston. The men all seem to be chuckling, although her mother does not look too pleased. She takes graceful steps forward, her eyes glancing intuitively around the room. “Father, you’re home!” she says cheerily, while she looks at her mother with a questioning glance. 

“My dearest Dany! You grow more beautiful with every day,” her father responds, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Daenerys notices that her mother cannot seem to shake the fretful look on her features. 

“What is it?” she asks, looking between her mother and father. Her mother remains silent and averts her gaze, looking up at her brothers instead. Her father, on the other hand, offers her a gentle smile and motions for her to follow him to the seating area. 

“Take a seat.” Daenerys follows and does as she is told, taking a seat on the chair closest to the open window. She looks up at her father expectantly. Daenerys never likes it when her family chooses to withhold information simply because she is a girl. She has no doubts that both her brothers already know the full details and have likely known for some time. 

“Please, tell me what it is.”

Monford chuckles to himself and folds his hands together on his lap, the embellishments on the cuffs of his jerkin glistening under the candle-light, “We can keep no secrets from you, Daenerys. You’re too curious.” Others might have perceived Lord Velaryon’s words as a light scolding, but Dany knows better than that. Her father has always been encouraging of her questioning mind. He gives her just enough room so that she doesn’t rebel or go running. 

“You know me very well,” she retorts, still waiting for her father to answer the question. Her father nods his head at her, the lines around his eyes growing as he smiles at her. Whatever he has to tell her, he thinks it’s good news. 

“An opportunity has presented itself and we feel that you’re up to the task,” her father begins. Her brow creases in confusion. Daenerys leans forward, resting her elbow against her knee. “As you know, I’ve spent many moons in King’s Landing and have seen for myself the discontent among the people. King Jaehaerys is well-liked, but his wife fails to gain the affection of her people. There have been some suggestions that the King should set aside his wife, who has failed to provide him with an heir, and seek a marriage elsewhere.” 

Daenerys has heard rumours of Queen Allana, although she has never met the woman in person. Most say that she is spoiled, vapid and does not care for her people. She thinks that it’s probably just hearsay from those who wish to discredit the Queen and blame the lack of male issue on the woman.

“What does that have to do with me?” she asks cautiously, her eyes narrowing. 

“While the King still seems reluctant to set aside his wife, most believe that he just needs a little push,” her father grins, making her shudder. “You are the most beautiful woman in all the lands, my sweet. More than Queen Allana, or even her cousin Margaery. Imagine what it would mean for our family if the King were to pick you.”

Daenerys shivers, not from the draft which slips through the windows but from the implication of her father’s words. “What you speak of is dangerous, father,” she argues, glancing up at her mother who appears pale. Her mother may be upset at her father’s choice now, but when it comes down to it, Elinor will stand by her husband. The Velaryons always stick together. Her parent’s marriage is one of the rare ones - they have loved each other from the very start. 

“Word of this will soon reach others and they will begin parading around their daughters, trying to temp the King. You must get there first.” Her violet eyes travel over her father, who sits with an eager smile on his face. He knows what the King’s affection could do for their family. Their influence would increase tenfold. 

She stands from the chair and manoeuvres around it, reaching for the window to push it open further. “What you’re asking for is damaging. You say that people loathe the Queen, but how would they feel about the woman that tries to break up a marriage? They’ll call me a whore.”

Warm hands enclose her forearms in a light hold, it’s meant to be comforting. Her mother’s floral perfume floods her nostrils. “You are the daughter of a great lord. They will never call you a whore,” Elinor whispers fiercely, which is echoed by her father.

“The Queen is not well-liked, which will work in your favour. You must have heard of the tales of Robert’s Rebellion, and the rumours surrounding the King’s mother. Rhaegar set aside his first marriage for Lyanna, and in doing so started a rebellion. The Dornish lost so much as a result, while both Lyanna and her son survived. King Jaehaerys will not end his marriage without the right push,” her father explains. “You must never settle, Daenerys. Do not agree to be his mistress or even his second wife. It must be all or nothing, if we are to succeed.”

“May I be excused?” Her words are clear and graceful, despite the ringing in her ears. She wonders how much of this her father has thought through. Surely he does not wish to offend the Tyrells, and neither would the King. They have the influence and resources to go to war against the crown, should they wish to do so.

Her father nods at her, and she immediately hurries from the room. The fabric of her gown is constricting, and she’s desperate to tear it off as she hastens to move down the stone steps which lead back down to the empty beach. She kicks off her shoes so that she can feel the sand between her toes and lets out a frustrated scream, which is drowned out by the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Daenerys knows that she cannot refuse her father. She will do all that she can for her family, even if that means damning her own soul. Would the Seven forgive her? Or do they ask this of her?

When the morning comes, her handmaidens begin to pack trunks with her belongings. Daenerys has many fine gowns, but her mother has sent letters to a seamstress in King’s Landing to sew more. She will make her debut at court at the King’s name day celebrations, so she is to have a gown made to suit such a splendid occasion.

She sits on the edge of her bed watching her handmaidens, all of which are busying themselves with the task of packing away all of Daenerys’ finery. Perhaps she out to help them, but she’s too trapped in her own mind to do much else. This is not the future that she’d envisioned for herself as a little girl. Her parents have always nurtured and protected her, and now they want to feed her to the dragon. 

The King is said to be merciless when it comes to betrayal. What would he see her actions as? Daenerys has never attempted to seduce a man before. She knows that she must have faith in herself or the plan will certainly fail. 

Reclining back on her bed, she stares up at the embroidered canopy overhead. Seahorses decorate the fabric, in shades of pale green and blue. She would happily stay in the Driftmark for the rest of her days, but her family now have other plans for her. Daenerys is not sure how she feels about everything, about what is being asked of her. But she will do as her family wishes. 

Bethany gives her a big smile, before she goes back to chattering with one of the other handmaidens. They are excited to be going to King’s Landing. They know nothing of her family’s intentions. No one outside of her immediate family knows what her father and brothers have planned. The longer it stays that way, the better off they will be. Daenerys is certain that her bastard uncle Aurane, doesn’t even know. 

There’s a knock on her chamber door, which is answered by another handmaiden, Serra. Daenerys glances over, watching as Serra has a small conversation with another handmaiden, “Lady Velaryon has requested your presence in her chambers,” Serra says, looking back at her. 

Daenerys sits up and moves away from the bed, smoothing down the soft fabric of her gown to make sure it’s crease-free. Her hair has been washed but not pinned back, so it hangs in soft waves around her face. She catches her reflection in the mirror and sighs. She knows that she is beautiful, she’s been told so almost every day since she was a little girl. Now she must use that beauty as a political tool. 

She walks past her handmaidens and out the chamber door, following behind her mother’s principle handmaiden. The woman has been in her mother’s service since before she was born. 

It’s a short walk to her mother’s chambers, but it allows her a moment of peace with her thoughts. In her eighteen summers, never once has Daenery felt as conflicted as she now does. She wants to do right by her family, but she’s not certain that it’s right by her. What if she is allowing herself to agree to an unhappy future? It’s foolish of her to hope that she can have a marriage like her parents, one born from love. 

The handmaiden opens the chamber door for Daenerys, allowing her to step inside her mother’s rooms. Gold decorates almost every part of the rooms, being that it’s her mother’s favourite colour. Everything from the tapestries on the walls to the linens on her bed, everything is in varying shades of gold. No expense had been spared when it came to Elinor Lefford’s comfort. 

“Come, sweetling,” Elinor motions, calling her into the private chambers. Daenerys has already been informed that her mother will not be joining her in King’s Landing. It would rouse too much suspicion if the entire family moves to the capital, leaving no one of power in the Driftmark. Marston will also stay behind, as he’s less politically minded that her eldest brother. 

Elinor embraces her tightly, protectively. 

“I will be fine, mother,” Daenerys offers, although it’s unclear if she is trying to convince herself or her mother. Either way, she receives a tearful nod in response. Her mother steps away and pats a white cloth to her eyes. 

“You will be leaving in the morrow and I thought I would have more time to speak about such things,” her mother begins. Daenerys is a little confused but knows that her mother will elaborate. They sit down at the table, which is full of fruits, bread, cheeses and olives. “Wine or Lemonsweet?” her mother asks, with her hand settled on the table between the two jugs. 

“Wine,” Daenerys responds, which makes her mother chuckle. A golden goblet is filled by her mother’s hand and then pushed forward so that Daenerys can wrap her fingers around the brim. She lifts the liquid gold to her lips and sighs, “From the Arbor?” she asks, recognising the taste. 

“Yes, it is. They produce the best wine.”

Now that she is of age, her mother will sometimes invite her into her chambers so that they can drink wine and discuss the scandalous rumours which circulate around the Driftmark. It’s simple and fun, Daenerys will miss it. 

“There are some things which I was planning to tell you before your wedding night, but I think that it’s important that I share this information now. You must not surrender your virtue before your marriage. However, there are some things which the King may wish to try before…” Elinor begins, and for the first time in years, Daenerys blushes in front of her mother.

“Mother, please stop! Alyssa Celtigar married in the Spring, she told me what happens between lovers,” Daenerys says quickly. Another gulp of wine is swallowed down by both ladies. 

“Very well.” Her mother looks almost relieved to not have to continue the conversation, which Daenerys is certainly grateful for. Neither of her brothers have married yet, much to the disappointment of her mother. Elinor is eager for there to be more children in the Driftmark. 

Her mother stands and moves around the table, to pull Daenerys up from her chair and into a tight hug. Daenerys savours the smell of her mother’s perfume, and the adoring look in her eyes. It’s not the last time that they’ll see one another, but it still feels like a final farewell. Everything will be different when they see one another. If everything happens as her father wants it, Daenerys will be Queen. To fail means to be shamed, she is certain of that. 

“Do not miss me too much, mother,” Daenerys whispers into her mother’s shoulder. Elinor only holds her tighter. 

When it is time for them to sail from the Driftmark to the Red Keep, Daenerys feels a pit in her stomach. She stares up at the place that has always been her home and at the family members she’ll be leaving behind. Even with her father and Lucerys beside her, Daenerys still feels alone in her quest. She wishes that her mother could come with her. They had spoken about Lyanna Stark, the King’s mother. Elinor suggested getting in the woman’s good graces, as she would be an integral part of the family’s plan succeeding. Her mother had already seen a letter to the Queen-mother, asking if Daenerys could join her household as a handmaiden. She would know the answer upon her arrival. 

Her mother and brother wave at her as she boards the ship, her fingers gripping the sides tightly. Many of her days have been sent aboard ships and it is only today that it makes her feel nauseous. 

Daenerys doesn’t cry when they set sail. It is not worth her tears and she dislikes crying in public. 

The next time that she steps on dry land, she’ll be in King’s Landing. Despite the short distance which they’ll travel to get there, Daenerys has never been to the capital before. She’s heard dreadful things of the stinking downs and overpopulated areas. If it is true that the Queen does nothing to aid the people, then she will certainly receive no love from Daenerys. Should she succeed in becoming the Queen, she will do all that she can to help those who have less. 

“Are you okay, my girl?” her father asks, standing beside her. His arms fold over the side of the ship, and he tilts his head to the side and down to look at her. 

Daenerys nods her head, “I’m fine, father.”

They don't speak for the rest of the journey, which Daenerys is grateful for. She's not sure what else there is to say and she would rather gather her nerves. Does she want to be Jaehaerys' wife? Does she want to be his Queen? No one asked her how she felt about it and now it's too late. She's sailing towards her future, whatever that may be. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive response on the first chapter! Now, I know I said that I was going to update 'Duchess and the Wolf' first, but I got carried away with this chapter. I cannot promise that I'll post another chapter as quickly as I have this one, but I hope you enjoy it.

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

When they dock in the port of King’s Landing, the first thing which Daenerys notices is the smell. She is already accustomed to the aroma of the sea and the imports of fish and livestock, but there’s something putrid in the air - it reminds her of death. There’s a part of her that already wants to return home to the life which she knows well.

She lifts a cloth to her nose and breathes in slowly through her mouth. Her father glances up at her and chuckles, “You’ll get used to the smell,” he calls from the dock. Daenerys doubts that very much. It’s so strong, it feels as though it’s burning her nose. 

She grips the ropes for support when she steps off the ship and onto solid ground. It takes all of her strength not to wobble slightly. Lucerys, on the other hand, takes long strides past her and almost bumps his shoulder against her arm. If they were in private, Daenerys would have rolled her eyes or in an extreme case, scolded him for it. 

Her father guides her towards the wheelhouse, which will take her safely up to the Red Keep. Rooms have already been secured for her. Since it’s the celebration of the King’s thirtieth nameday, many members of the nobility from the surrounding kingdoms are all travelling to the capital. Many rooms will have been prepared for the higher ranking members, while lesser houses will likely find lodgings in the local inns.

Daenerys peers through the hatch in the wheelhouse so that she can watch the common folk. Many sneer and hiss, while some even spit. 

At first, it’s almost frightening to see their attitude towards her. But she realises that they despise the nobility because they have so little. They’re covered in filth, barely any of them wear shoes and there are shivering children sat on the jagged edges of broken steps. It’s a pitiful sight and she suddenly feels angry for having witnessed it. She knows that things were worse prior to King Jaehaerys’ rule, but things still need to improve. 

It does not take them too long to get to the gates of the Red Keep, which is imposing in size as it sits on Aegon’s Hil. Eyes full of wonder gaze up at the pale red stone towers, which stand so tall that they almost reach the clouds. It’s hot in King’s Landing, which does not help with the smell. But the closer she gets to the keep, the nicer the aromas are. Smelling salts waft in the air, while a stray cat curls up against her feet. She peers down at the animal and at the ginger fur which is speckled with white. It’s fat, which means it’s well-fed. 

“Shoo,” her father barks at the cat. The animal gets up onto its haunches, tail curling in the air as it hisses and then skips away. More will likely come around soon so she isn’t sure why her father even bothered.

“Come, my sweet. I’ll take you to your room.” Daenerys nods her head towards her father and then follows behind him. Both her brothers are as tall as her father, while she mirrors her mother’s petite stature. If her father and Lucerys wished it, they could cover her completely and no one would be able to see her behind them. 

When they walk inside, Daenerys immediately begins to look around. Black armour lines the stone walls, and she walks over what appears to be sweet-smelling rushes. The further they walk on down the corridor, the less prominent the plants are. In place of them are painted tiles, which shine as though they are waxed almost daily. Fortunately, her shoes do not slip against the floor. 

It’s busy inside the keep. There are many new arrivals which litter the hallways, servants carry heavy trunks and narrowly avoid bumping into one another. Some members of the nobility, who are easily recognisable by the fine cloth of their clothes and the twists in their hair, look at her curiously. Her mother has always said that she is the most captivating beauty with her valryian features, and from the way in which others are looking at her, her mother must be correct. 

They walk past the oak and black iron doors of the Great Hall but do not enter. The doors are sealed shut, as all the preparations are made for the nameday celebrations. It will begin with feasting and dancing, and in the morrow, there will be a great tourney. Daenerys has never seen the latter, although she has heard some unsettling things. 

Smiles are offered to her by men, and in return, they receive a reproaching glance from her father and brother. It makes her snigger to herself. 

Once they reach a door down a long corridor, her father comes to a halt. He opens the door for her and she peers in, noticing that her handmaidens are already flitting about the room unpacking her trunks. The room is smaller than her one in the Driftmark, but it has three large windows, a canopy bed covered in dark red linens and a sitting area beside the fire. There is a half-way of decorative metal bars near the small table, to separate the sitting area from the bedroom. The closer she gets to the metal bars, the more she notices the intricate workmanship. Dragon tails weave in and out in iron, curling around one another. 

She walks over to the windows and lets out a sigh of relief. Her room is facing the sea, which makes her feel less trapped. Locking her hands together she looks out of the window once more and then back over to the direction of her father. The chambers are dark, moody, so unlike the airy bright rooms, she’s lived in her whole life. 

“Will you be comfortable, my sweet?” her father asks. Daenerys bites her lip and nods her head. She does not want to let her father down. 

“Very well. I’ll leave you to unpack,” he responds, brushing his bearded chin. “The seamstress is due to arrive soon with your new gown. On such short notice, she has only managed the one. But more shall arrive by the end of the week.”

When her father leaves and the lock clicks, Daenerys sets on the edge of the bed with a huff. Her handmaidens must notice her unhappiness, for Bethany is ushered forward. The other ladies try to make themselves look busy, but Daenerys can tell that they’re still listening. 

“Is it not exciting to be here, Lady Daenerys?” The mousy-brown haired lady asks, large eyes full of curiosity. Bethany is from one of the minor vassal houses of the Crownlands, and would not have been invited to the King’s nameday celebrations, had it not been for Daenerys. 

She stands and places her hand over Bethany’s, “Of course it is,” she lies softly, giving the handmaiden an encouraging smile. Daenerys feels uneasy about the future and conflicted about the path which she is on. Her father is so certain that she will capture the King’s attention, and she’s wary of his reaction if that should not be the case. 

Late Lunch is taken in her rooms. She eats a morsel of bread and not much else. Her stomach is in knots and she has no appetite for food. Thankfully, before anyone can question her disinterest in the food, the seamstress arrives with her gown. 

Pale green fabric swishes as the seamstress unveils the gown, which is so light in colour that it almost looks white. It’s only in certain lights that you can see the mix of greens and grey. The sleeves are decorated with a river of hanging jewels, which sway when she moves her arms. A corsetted bodice pushes up her small breasts, while still remaining appropriately covered. It’s a teasing gown which shows just enough flesh to entice, without giving the wrong impression.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasps, once the seamstress has fully fitted it to her body. Daenerys twirls and lets out a joyful laugh. It’s the first time that she truly feels like a woman and not a girl. Her fingers collect the skirts of the gown and swish, watching as it ripples like waves in the sea. 

Daenerys is bathed ready for the evening, her body rubbed with perfumes and hair brushed until it shines like spun silver. Only then are the front pieces pulled back into elegant twists, a fashionable style often worn by members of the nobility. Once pulled back, Bethany pins jewels and flowers to the twisted strands. Rouge is then rubbed against her lips and cheeks lightly, to give her a healthy glow. 

When Daenerys looks in the mirror, she holds back a gasp. She looks beautiful and she knows it. 

Music and laughter fill her ears as she walks with her handmaidens to the Great Hall. Daenerys’ heart pounds in her chest and she puts a lot of effort into making herself look composed. She doesn’t want to see like a foolish young girl, easily affected by revelry. Bethany and Serra squeal with delight, while her other handmaidens, Jocelyn and Lily, look noticeably nervous. 

“Enjoy yourselves and do not drink too much. Remember that you represent House Velaryon.” The handmaidens chirp in agreement, before scurrying into the hall. Daenerys looks for her father, who is stood talking with her brother. Both of them hold glasses of dark red wine.

Slowly she walks over to them, weaving through the standing courtiers who are all talking excitedly. When she finally reaches her father, he smiles brightly at her. “None will ever outshine you, my beautiful daughter.” 

Some hurry towards the feasting tables, where there are bountiful amounts of food. The servants in their black and red garbs rush about with carafes of wine, filling every empty glass. It’s interesting to watch the expressions on peoples faces as they interact with one another. Some struggle to hide contempt, others repress joy and there are suggestive glances of secret lovers. She had seen Alyssa Celtigar giving Rayford Rosby those same glances months before they were wed. 

“The King will soon arrive with the Queen. They are expected to share a dance together but do not be discouraged by that.” She isn’t. Daenerys holds herself back from saying that it’s not her interests which are on the line, but theirs. She will do all that she can to make their wishes come true, but she cannot help it if the King has no interest in turning from his wife.

The horrid names of what others will call her flash in her mind. Even if the people have no love for their Queen and would gladly see her deposed, they would call Daenerys names because they missed out on the opportunity of capturing the King’s attention. 

Silence falls across the room, which is then followed almost immediately by cheers. For the first time, Daenerys sets her eyes on King Jaehaerys. He looks more Stark than Targaryen, with his curly dark brown hair and long face. He’s shorter than she expects, but it doesn’t take away from his attractiveness or commanding presence. The cloth of his jerkin is black with red accents. From what her father has told her, the King rarely wears his crown, but right now he wears the ruby circlet around his head.

Beside the King is a woman dressed in green, with a golden crown atop her head - the Queen. She is beautiful and cold. Daenerys watches as Queen Allana stiffly takes the King’s arm, as he guides her towards the main banquet table. 

Ale is poured into the King’s tankard, which he holds high. “Thank you all for coming, my Lords and Ladies. I shall not carry on for too long, I’ll leave that for the council meetings. Drink well, enjoy the feasts and give me a good show tomorrow.” Men cheer all around the room, while Daenery raises an eyebrow. King Jaehaerys does not seem like a gentle man, and yet from what she has heard of his grandfather, he does not seem to possess the traits of a madman. 

“Was that it?” Daenerys whispers, confused as the King sits back down.

Her father chuckles behind her, rubbing his ring covered hands together. “What else is there to say, my sweet? The King does not enjoy making speeches about himself, but he knows how to pull his men together.” She wonders if, had Jaehaerys not been born into the role, if he ever would’ve desired to be King.

Daenerys watches with interest the way the King moves. Very quickly he leaves his seat, while the Queen remains nursing her goblet. Tankards clash together and laughter fills the air, the King is with his friends. He sits on the edge of the banquet table encouraging a man who wears Stark embellishments to finish his drink. The man has auburn hair and bright blue eyes, and Daenerys knows that she’s heard stories of Robb Stark. He summered in King’s Landing for several years, when King Rhaegar was still unsure of the Starks loyalty, despite his wife being one. Although, that’s probably what kept Eddard Stark’s head on his shoulders.

“Lady Sansa of House Tyrell,” she hears her father say, so she turns away from the sight of the King. He will still be there when she looks again, Daenerys is certain of that. When she turns, she is met with the sight of a beautiful woman. Sansa is tall, with auburn hair and pretty features. The woman’s gown is the green and gold of House Tyrell, and her expression is whimsical like that of a child. Her pale hands brush over her belly and Daenerys suddenly knows why - the woman is content and with child. 

“Lady Sansa, let me introduce you to my daughter Daenerys,” Monford says proudly, which is met by a respectful smile from the Tyrell lady. She reaches her hands forward and grasps Dany’s. 

“She is a beauty. Where have you been hiding her, Lord Velaryon?” The woman teases, eyes bright but scrutinising. The woman must be several years older than Daenerys, but does not appear jaded. Sansa must have had a charming upbringing. 

Daenerys doesn’t blush at Sansa’s compliments, she’s used to being called beautiful. 

Her father steps forward and places a comforting hand on her shoulder, “My daughter has only recently had her eighteenth nameday and I was happy to let her grow in the Driftmark, away from all the politics.”

Sansa nods her head in agreement, with a flicker of respect in her eyes. “My father did the same for me, although at the time I felt trapped in the North. I wanted pretty summer dresses and brave knights,” Sansa speaks softly. “Perhaps, you feel the same Daenerys?” If only Sansa knew. 

“I suppose I want what every lady wants,” she offers, which seems to appease Lady Sansa’s curiosity. 

“Very good, Lady Daenerys. You must join me in the gardens for tea and cakes, my good-sister Margaery will also join us.” To Daenerys, Lady Sansa seems soft and gentle. A woman who was bred to be a Lady, and did so very well. Everything about her seems so well put together. 

There’s an agreement between the two ladies that the forementioned plans should be actioned at a later date, once the revelry of the King’s nameday is at an end. 

The auburn-haired Lady leaves her after that, moving through the crowds of people gracefully to a man who stands with a gold decorated leather brace around his leg, hand resting against a dark wooden walking stick. Upon seeing Sansa, the man offers her a smile before pulling her to his side with his free arm. It’s an endearing sight. 

As the evening continues, everyone grows rowdier. The music starts and so does the dancing. People are deep into their cups, she hears belches and overexcited laughs. The room is alive and even the dragon skulls which line the edges seem to watch her. Daenerys’ heart beats faster with excitement, and she feels herself being drawn into the centre of the room. She has only had a goblet of wine, not wishing to lose her head like all the rest.

Someone takes her hand, he’s tall with shiny light brown hair. “Would you care for a dance?” a smooth voice asks. She nods in reply and is guided over to where others are dancing, skirts twirl and people clap from the sidelines. Up on the balcony, she spots the musicians with all their varying instruments enthusiastically playing their new piece. A song has already been sung of the dragon and the wolf, an ode to the King’s parents. The most beautiful song that she has ever heard. 

Moving with the music, Daenerys follows her dancing partner but keeps enough distance to not raise any eyebrows. Showing favour to one man could spark vicious gossip and that would not help her family’s cause. The man is natural at dancing, which makes Daenerys believe that he’s asked many ladies to dance over the years. 

When she twirls out from the man’s extended arm, she spots the King. He’s no longer in the huddle of Lords all talking of their battle stories, but is instead watching her like a hawk. Her heart beats a little faster. Daenerys remembers what her father said about the King and Queen dancing, which has not happened. The latter is nowhere to be seen and the King has been drinking for most of the evening. 

They turn again, meaning that her back is to the King. She can no longer see him watching her which feels like a blessing. The tempo of the music slows, as the ending of the melody draws close. Most couples part, likely looking to share a dance with a new partner. Events like these are wonderful for finding ones match, or so Alyssa had said many moons ago. 

Daenerys moves away from the stranger ready to rejoin her father. Hands tug her own as the musicians begin to play their next song, and this time it’s the King who is looking down at her. 

“Your Grace,” she gasps, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. His eyes dance with mirth, probably from her tone. Up close, he doesn’t appear as cold. He has dark eyes which don’t frighten, instead, they invite her. 

Out the corner of her eye, she watches as the gentleman she danced with before, nods his head at her father. It makes her suspicious. 

“Who are you?” The King’s voice is rich. It’s so deep and alluring, she almost wishes that he’d say so more than he already has. Daenerys has always loved to listen to the tales and heroics of sailors, what stories would the King have to share? 

“Daenerys of House Velaryon. I am the daughter of Lord Monford,” she responds, as they mimic the movements of the other dancers around them. King Jaehaerys nods his head to show that he’s listening to her. Daenerys realises that they’re held close to one another, she hopes that it won’t provoke rumours - it’s too early for that. 

“Is this your first time at court?” Daenerys nods her head, uncertain of her voice. “You have all my men talking about you, Lady Daenerys. All of them arguing over who was going to ask you to dance next. I think I’ve made it easier on them now, I suspect your feet will be sore by the end of the evening.” 

Daenerys glances over his shoulder at the men, all of whom are watching them. “You are dancing with me to toy with them?” she asks suspiciously. The King’s head bows in agreement, the ruby gems of his crown glistening across her eyes. 

“We cannot make it easy for them, my lady. Try not to bruise their egos too much, some are prone to crying and there is nought that I can say to comfort them.” The King is joking with her. He does not know it yet, but she will do everything that she can to make sure that the only reason that he wants to dance with her in the future, is that he desires her above all else. 

“Very well. I shall indulge in your game.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings! Quite unexpectedly, I bring you chapter three. I was very inspired yesterday and wrong the entire thing. Now, I know that I've given you three chapters in six days, but believe me, that is a rare occurrence. I'm absolutely going to be updating the Duchess and the Wolf next. However, I do hope to have chapter four up next Sunday. If you're ever curious about where I'm up to with the chapters, you can always come and talk to me on Tumblr. My blogname is steelrosewrites. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this latest chapter, I found it so much fun to write. 
> 
> The Devil works hard and Monford Velaryon works harder. That is all.

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

Just like the King had said, Daenerys spent most of the evening dancing until she could no longer feel her feet. Any time she felt as though she could catch her breath and take a seat, another _dashing_ Lord would take her hand and lead her in a dance. Each one gave her compliments and made jokes, some invited her to join them on their hunt or game of cards. By the time she walked back to her chambers, flanked by her handmaidens, Daenerys was not short of offers.

“My Lady, it is time to wake up,” she hears a gentle voice say, stirring her from the peaceful slumber she’d been enjoying. Light streams through the large windows, which fortunately she’s used to experiencing. Her rooms in the Driftmark have always been light and breezy. 

Lifting her head from the plump pillows, she rests back on her elbows and peers over sleepily at her handmaidens. They are already hard at work, flitting about the chambers with their daily chores. None appear disorientated, so they must have heeded her warning about not drinking too much. A wise choice. While Daenerys may certainly overlook the occasional lapse in judgement, her father will not. He’s dedicated to protecting her image and that includes the people she surrounds herself with. 

“Prepare a hot basin of water for my feet,” Daenerys orders, noticing the way a dull ache lingers around the soles. There has been too much dancing for one evening, and she needs to look fresh for the tourney. The King is not expected to participate in the joust - her father had hinted that the lack of an heir has left the small council appropriately cautious of any unnecessary risk-taking by the King. As Lord Admiral and Master of Ships, her father is privy to this information. 

She thinks it’s a shame that the people will not see the King on the tiltyard. But should anything happen to him, it would throw the whole Seven Kingdoms into complete chaos. Especially after everything that happened with Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon.

Steaming hot water is filled into a shallow basin at the foot of the bed. She wiggles down and swings her feet over the edge, placing them into the hot water. Bethany moves behind her and begins combing out her hair. 

“Did you Ladies enjoy your evening?” Daenerys inquires, glancing over at where most of them are stood fiddling with her day gown. It’s ivory in colour and wraps over at the front with long billowing sleeves, a style often worn by those in the capital.

Serra turns around and blushes lightly, “It was exhilarating.” The other handmaidens murmur in agreement and go back to their work. She does not press them for more information.

A light breakfast of fruit is requested, after enjoying so many rich foods the night before. Daenerys bites into a sweet and ripe Dornish plum, sighing as the fruity taste hits her tongue. She would one day love to visit Dorne, to bask in the heat at the Water Gardens and dip in the warm pools. It is said to be idyllic 

Once Daenerys is dressed in her ivory gown and a string of green amethysts has been placed around her neck, she leaves the quiet privacy of her chambers, ready for the day’s list of events. The castle looks so much different in the daylight, it’s airier and less haunting. Targaryen banners hang down the pale red stone walkways, a constant reminder of the power that has dominated the Seven Kingdoms for centuries. 

It would be a terrible waste for the line to die out with Jaehaerys. 

Alyssa Celtigar embraces her warmly as they meet in the stands of the tiltyard, dressed in a gown of red and white, which makes her honey blonde hair appear more copper in the sunlight. She’s pretty with pale freckled skin and Daenerys’ oldest and dearest friend. 

Her friend looks to be torn between excitement and concern, as she holds her embroidered handkerchief tightly in her hand. “My husband, Lord Rosby, will do all that he can to prove how gallant and strong he is. Meanwhile, I sit here with my stomach in knots hoping he doesn’t get hit by a lance. Then, when it is all over, I am to tell my husband just how brave and strong he is,” Alyssa huffs, gnawing at her bottom lip. 

Daenerys smiles to herself over her friend’s worry. Alyssa has been in love with Raymond, ever since she was a little girl. Alyssa had been her companion and Raymond Rosby had squired under Monford, meaning that the three were often in close proximity. Her talkative friend would grow silent anytime that the copper-haired man spoke with her. “Could he not enjoy a safer sport? Hawking, for example?” The Lady rambles, and so Daenerys places her hand on the other woman’s.

“Come now, Alyssa. You’ve always liked how brave and gallant Raymond is,” Daenerys teases gently, trying to lighten Alyssa’s mood. 

Alyssa rolls her eyes, “That is because I know I shall enjoy a good fu...never mind.” She raises a brow at her friend. It is much too late for Alyssa to start silencing her words when it comes to her sexual appetite. Everything which Daenerys knows of what happens between lovers has come from Alyssa. 

Catching her look, Alyssa let’s out a laugh. “Fine. My husband gives a better performance if he has experienced a win.” 

Daenerys nods her head and folds her hands over her lap, an amused smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. Not long after, her father takes the free seat beside her. He will not be riding, but Lucerys will. To her right, Alyssa is still trying to conceal her nerves, which will not dissipate until her husband has completed the jousting match. He is also said to be competing in the melee and archery, which will take place tomorrow. 

When the King finally arrives, the Queen is notably absent. In her place, the Queen Mother sits beside her son. Lyanna Stark is still beautiful, even if the years have now aged her. It is clear to see where a lot of Jon’s looks come from, but there must be something of his father in him too. Daenerys has never seen the late King Rhaegar, so she knows not what comes from him. The King is lean and yet she imagines his body to still be well defined, whereas the Stark men which she was seen, all appear stocky and slightly shorter than him. The King is shorter than what she is used to, considering all Velaryon men are exceptionally tall. 

“Begin,” the King shouts and the crowd cheers. Serving boys weave through the benches and there’s a passing of coin purses among men, as all make their bets. 

First out is Barristan Selmy, who rides against Lothor Brune. Despite the man’s age, it does not slow down the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who easily unseats Ser Lothor. Most of those who ride are knights, but some Lords enjoy the game and cannot be prevented from entering. 

It’s her first time viewing a jousting match, and she had not been prepared for how bloody it would be. From what she’s seen, often those who are unseated sustain serious injury. Some limp off of the tiltyard while others are dragged. Thankfully, no one has died yet.

Daenerys glances over at the royal stands, where the Queen Mother Lyanna, looks most enthused by the events. It’s rumoured that she once took part in a jousting match as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, although it was never proven. 

When Theon Greyjoy rides out onto the tiltyard, he does not take his position. Instead, he carries on down until he is directly opposite her and then raises his lance towards her. “May I have your favour, Lady Daenerys?” he asks, giving her a mischievous glance. He had been one of the Lords to dance with her the night before, and she had found him to be very forward. 

“I hear that you have collected many, Lord Greyjoy,” she responds in an amused tone, her hands clasped together. She makes no attempt to tug the sea-green ribbon from the sleeve of her gown. A quick glance around tells her that everyone has stopped what they are doing to observe them discussing her favour, which she has no intention of giving. 

“You wound me, Lady Daenerys. One must smell many flowers in order to find the sweetest,” Theon says, attempting to charm her. 

Monford Velaryon has a talent for remaining still and silent, but at her side, he makes tiny movements at her side to show his discontent. He does not want her to disrespect a close friend of the King’s and yet he does not want her to give her favour. It’s as though he is stewing over a resolution in his clever mind. Just when he opens his mouth to intervene, the King stands.

“Theon, get back to the bloody game and leave the Lady alone,” he shouts, causing a few sniggers from the crowd. The iron born man looks displeased, he pulls on the reins of his charger and moves away from her. Daenerys doubts that the man will be so easily deterred, yet she is still grateful of King Jaehaerys stepping in. 

Hands squeeze her own and she looks straight at Alyssa, who looks almost ill. Her eyes are wide with alarm, skin unusually pale and green in tone. “Raymond is next to ride,” she grits. Never before has her friend looked so nervous, and Raymond has entered many matches before. 

“What is it?” Daenerys asks gently, concern creasing her brows. 

“I do not want the fool to seriously injure himself or suffer a fatal blow. I am carrying his child,” Alyssa’s reveal makes Daenerys gasp in surprised delight. She now understands her friend’s fear. Alyssa used to talk all the time of when she would be Lady Rosby, with a gallant husband and her copper-haired children. It’s a dream she has always imagined for herself and now that she is close to achieving it, fear has surfaced. 

Daenerys fully turns to Alyssa and embraces her tenderly, “Your husband is brave and skilled, he will be fine. You’re going to get your dream. Hold onto that,” she whispers and then pulls away. 

After Theon’s successful match, sans favour, it is Raymond Rosby’s turn to take to the tiltyard. He is facing off against Ser Willem Lannister. A red ribbon is tied to the end of his lance, it’s clearly Alyssa’s favour. Daenerys’ hands are gripped tightly, while her friend mutters prayers under her breath. 

Both men charge at one another, and it sends Willem Lannister flying back onto his arse. The crowd lets out an audible groan, as though they can feel the brunt of Willem’s pain. Still, the golden-haired Lannister stumbles to his feet, all the while rubbing his backside as he walks off the tiltyard. Alyssa lets out a large breath that she’d clearly been holding. 

The matches carry on into the afternoon, where Raymond proves to be a formidable rider. It is only when he faces off against Loras Tyrell, The Knight of Flowers, that he is unseated. He sustains no major injuries, to Alyssa’s relief, who rushes from the stand to locate his tent. Daenerys follows hoping to see her brother, who has done tremendously well and has made House Velaryon proud in coming third, after falling from Ser Barristan’s lance.

She hears people cheer as Loras Tyrell defeats Barristan Selmy, and is named champion of the joust. That will surely make the Queen happy, even if she has decided not to attend. 

Walking past the tents, she hears the groans of men as the maesters work on their aching limbs and the harrowing cries of a lady in the distance. Some have not been so fortunate as her friends.

Fire pits litter the ground, while banners with house sigils float in the warm wind. Many Knights walk past her carrying their helms, appearing sweaty and dishevelled from the events of the day. She smiles politely at them and navigates the uneven turf, attempting to walk gracefully in spite of every lump and stone.

Daenerys realises that it’s difficult to find her brother’s tent when there are so many covering the ground. She carries on, refusing to look foolish for being lost. Plenty of men smile at her, some probably hope she’s a whore coming to please them while they talk about their prowess astride a horse. 

“I did not expect to find you here, Lady Daenerys,” she hears a familiar voice say. Daenerys turns to the side and notices that the King is walking next to her, maintaining the same pace. They contrast one another with the light and dark, he wears a black jerkin and she wears an ivory gown. She thinks it’s oddly poetic. 

She looks forward again at the path ahead, where the sun is starting to dip in the sky. Daenerys notices that the putrid smells don’t sting her nose as much, although it’s still uncomfortable to endure. 

“I was searching for my brother,” Daenerys explains, hoping that it will be enough. She is not always the most charming person, occasionally she is too forthright with her opinions. 

“Not Lord Greyjoy?” the King says. She whips around her head to look at him, her violet eyes storming. He’s smirking at her, playing his game. 

Deliberately she looks away from him, “You tease too much, your grace,” she responds, pursing her lips. King Jaehaerys tugs on her arm and spins her around to face him. They stand in front of one another, still surrounded by tents. It makes the space around them feel more enclosed.

“Ah, but was I not right? Lord Greyjoy was one of the many men arguing over who should request a dance first,” he tells her, while his slightly rough hands hold her arm. She has always imagined that a King’s hands would be smooth, void of the calluses of a soldier. It shows that the King is a fighter and good with his hands.

Tilting her head, she looks up into his eyes and then rolls her own, “You stole that dance from him, your grace, and you prevented him from claiming my favour. Seems to me that you do not want Lord Greyjoy to have his shot.”

The King drops her hands.

_“We all have to land on our arses and the King cannot even be bothered to participate. Is he afraid of a good arse whipping or is he not man enough even for that? I heard the Queen say that he has all the virility of a sloppy fish.”_

There’s a chorus of laughter at the man’s words, who clearly thinks himself the court jester. While Daenerys tenses, beside her the King’s hands clench with obvious rage. She takes a step back from the tent, squeezing her hands together. Meanwhile, the King charges forward angrily and reaches into the tent, pulling the poor unsuspecting fool to his knees in the dry dirt. Daenerys’ feels a surging of excitement in her from the show of power.

The man tumbles against the ground, allowing her to get a good look at him. She’d seen him on the tiltyard earlier, he rode against Raymond Rosby and was unseated early on. Willem Lannister of Lannisport. His pale cheeks are scarlet red, and long blonde hair sweaty and smattered with mud. The man scrambles to find words and yet the only sounds that come from his mouth are whimpers and half-spoken pleases. He crouches with his hands clasped above him, begging for the King’s mercy. 

“Would you care to repeat yourself, Lord Willem?” The King growls, his eyes growing darker as he stares down at the whimpering Lord. Daenerys doesn’t feel any pity for the Lannister, it’s his cockiness which has gotten him into this position. 

“Don’t. Please. Not in front of the Lady,” Lord Willem whines, trying to use her as a shield against King Jaehaerys’ wrath. All eyes turn to her, to which she offers a graceful smile. She’s not going to beg for mercy for a man she holds no respect for, or feign feminine weakness at the slightest hint of violence.

“You disgust me, Willem. Would you hide behind your mother’s skirts if she were here?” Daenerys looks back at the King and does not dare look away. It’s captivating to watch him close on the whimpering Lord, who curls in on himself. 

Members of the Kingsguard walk over to where they are stood, while the King remains silent. He’s quietly observing the man’s behaviour. 

“What you said was slanderous, Lord Willem. I have parted heads from necks for less,” the King snarls slowly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist. The Lord starts crying then, showing his cowardice. “I’m in something of a jovial mood, being how we are celebrating my nameday. I’ll spare your head, for now. But you seem to enjoy trying to humiliate me so I shall return the favour.” Jaehaerys turns towards the Kingsguard with a fierce expression. “Place a pillory in the tiltyard and let the remaining guests see his shame. Keep him there until dawn,” he orders and then offers her his arm. 

She glances down at his offered arm and then takes it quietly, blocking out the sounds of Lord Willem wailing like a fool as he’s dragged away. It’s not death that he’ll face, only humiliation. Many will surely delight in throwing their scraps of food at him. 

“My apologies, that you had to see that.” 

It dawns on her that she does not feel affected by what she has seen. The fool deserves to face justice for saying vile words against the King, who did show mercy. She wonders if King Jaehaerys would have been quite so forgiving, had he not been reminded of a woman’s presence. 

“Please, do not apologise,” she protests.

They walk in comfortable silence, which Daenerys thinks is nice. After the chaos of the day, the calm is a welcome change. Birds fly over her head and she watches the way they dance in the clouds. Perhaps, King’s Landing is more beautiful than she originally thought.

Once the Velaryon banners come into view, _finally_ , the King stills beside her. Daenerys turns to face him with a grateful smile, “Thank you for bringing me here, your grace.”

King Jaehaerys nods his head and then scoops up her hand, to press a kiss to the back of it. “My mother tells me that you have requested to join her service, which means you may be staying in King’s Landing for a while. I expect that she’ll send a handmaiden to come and collect you in the morrow. She is very particular about who joins her.”

Words have been shared between mother and son about her, the reality makes her heart beat a little faster. She nods her head, “I hope that I meet your mother’s standards.”

King Jaehaerys smirks, “Oh, you will.” He clasps his hands together after that, “Good evening, Lady Daenerys,” he says and then turns to walk away. She remains standing outside the tent for a moment, watching the profile of the King as retravels down the path which he had brought her on. She had clearly sidetracked him from his original plans.

Daenerys clears her throat and shakes out her hands to pull herself together. “Lucerys, are you decent?” she calls, which is acknowledged by her brother. She ducks under the tent and notices that her father is stood beside him, both of them giving her a knowing look. They clearly caught the final part of her conversation with the King. 

“Did you purposefully choose the furthest tent away?” she grumbles in exasperation. Her father smirks and lifts a goblet of wine to his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm back with an update. I hope you enjoy :)

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

With the letter still curled up in her hand, Daenerys follows quietly behind the handmaiden who had been sent to fetch her. She wears one of her more modest gowns, a sea-green dress which wraps over at the waist and is made of a slightly thicker fabric than most of her gowns, for her meeting with the Queen Mother. Her hand reaches up to touch the silver seahorse pendant around her neck, to give her a boost of courage. She can do this. 

“Wait here,” the handmaiden instructs, once they reach the Queen Mother’s rooms. In this part of the keep, it’s quieter than most and she wonders if that is purposeful. Northernors are said to be non-fussy and while Daenerys has never visited, she imagines that Winterfell is vastly different. All those years ago, it must have been an adjustment for Lyanna Stark. 

Daenerys stands outside for quite a while, so much so that she begins to fidget. There is no sign of the handmaiden, and with the exception of two guards outside the door, the corridor is void of other people. She presses her lips together and squeezes her hands, trying to ignore her rising agitation. The King had implied that she would meet the Queen Mother’s high standards, but now she is beginning to doubt the truth in it. 

She’s grateful when a cat bounces up onto the stone half-wall with its tail curling around one of the archway pillars. The animal gives her a meaningless distraction from the boredom of staring at a wooden door for what feels like an entire moon-turn. 

Violet eyes follow the movements of the feline as it pads across the stone wall, and then skips down onto the ground, circling her. The small ginger cat rubs its furry face against the soft fabric of her skirts and purrs. She giggles, despite never really having much love for cats. But they’re everywhere in the Red Keep!

Footsteps echo down the hallway, it’s a serving boy carrying a platter of food. She watches as he walks past in his blood-red uniform, head proudly tilted upwards. Upon seeing him, one of the guards opens the door and speaks with a handmaiden, who steps out into the corridor and takes the platter of food. Once the exchange happens, the door shuts once more and the boy walks away. No one acknowledges that she is there.

“Have they forgotten that I am here?” she mutters to herself, feeling her irritation begin to take over. She knows that she has been standing outside the rooms for longer than deemed appropriate because the sun has shifted in the sky. 

Her fingers lift up to fiddle with her seahorse pendant, twitching it out of restlessness. She chuckles to herself then. Monford Velaryon’s plans are brought to a standstill because his daughter cannot enter a room. 

She’s so tempted to walk away, but maybe that is the test in all of this. Daenerys thinks that Lyanna is not so very different from herself. Afterall, Rhaegar was at the time a married man when the two ran away together, and he set aside his marriage to Queen Elia - who unfortunately did not escape the brutal grasp of the mountain. It took three strong men to take down Gregor Clegane. She shudders at the thought of all the horrors which have happened in this very Keep. For King Jaehaerys, he has to live with the fact that one of his grandfathers burned the other one.

Finally, after what is certainly many marks on a sundial, a handmaiden steps out into the corridor and motions for her to follow one again. 

Unlike the rest of the keep, which is coloured in shades of red, black and earth tones, the Queen Mother’s rooms are grey and dark blue. It almost makes it feel colder, despite the obvious heat of the capital. In ornate silver vases, blue roses pop out. She spots wooden carvings of a dragon encircling a direwolf, the story of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

A woman steps out dressed in a gown of dark silver, which sits low on her shoulders to reveal her pale collar bones and has a long belt which drapes down from her waist in a ‘v’ shape. The woman’s hair is dark and curly, with hints of silver threads which catch the light. She is beautiful now and it is clear to see that in her younger days, she was captivating. 

“Lady Daenerys, thank you for waiting,” she says, her tone almost amused. It feels as though the Queen Mother and her handmaidens have been having a little fun. Daenerys doesn’t allow her agitation to peek through, she instead offers a polite smile. 

“Of course, your grace,” Daenerys responds politely, despite her disguised annoyance. 

They move over to a small table beneath an alcove near the window, which is surrounded by four intricately carved chairs - they’re dark wooded and have blue cushions on the seats. There’s nothing remotely Targaryen or Tyrell about the room, which Daenerys finds very interesting. She wonders what kind of relationship that Lyanna and Queen Allana have with one another - she selfishly hopes that it’s not a positive one.

“Do you ride?” Lyanna asks, causing Daenerys’ brows to shoot up in surprise.

“Excuse me?” she says, aghast. 

“Horse riding, my lady.” The Queen Mother’s eyes seem to dance with humour, the grey in her irises matching that of the King’s. It makes it harder to see any part of another person in Jaehaerys, but then she has never seen a portrait of the late King Rhaegar.

“Occasionally, but I have never been the strongest. I spent most of my childhood in the water and on ships, rather than astride a horse,” Daenerys explains, smiling gratefully when a handmaiden passes her a goblet of pomegranate juice, which she can detect from the distinctive aroma. 

She wonders what it is like for Lyanna in the south, so far away from her Stark family members. It is surely only for King Jaehaerys that she stays in the Red Keep. If the Queen Mother were to leave, the King would be surrounded by Tyrells. Ambitious and hungry for more, just like her own family. Daenerys realises that her father’s own pursuit of glory, is not so very different to the ascension which the Tyrells made over a decade before. 

“Some will be pleased to know that you are not all perfect,” Lyanna says with a smirk. “You are all that anyone can talk of! I’ve even heard whispers saying that you look far more like a Targaryen than my own son. They’re right of course, Jon shares most of my likeness, but he’s just as much a Targaryen as his ancestors,” Lyanna says, and Daenerys’ brow furrows out of confusion.

“Jon?” Daenerys repeats the name, a little confused by it

“He has a long Targaryen name that everyone can admire and respect. But in private, he’s Jon to me,” Lyanna’s features light up when she speaks of her son. It’s clear that she loves her boy wholeheartedly. 

“I received your mother’s letter asking for you to join my service. I knew Elinor well, so I am always more than happy to help. However, I do not have need of another handmaiden,” Lyanna says, patting her hand. Daenerys feels her stomach sink. “You could ask the Queen. But I have a feeling that if you wanted to be in her service, you would have gone to her first.” The Queen Mother grins to herself and picks up a goblet of juice, to swallow down some of the russet toned liquid. 

Daenerys’ face does not betray the emotions which swirl within her. She doesn't know what kind of game Lyanna is playing, but she loathes not knowing the rules. 

“You’re very good at keeping a straight face, Lady Daenerys,” Lyanna notes, leaning a little closer. “I never have been. They say that I’m too honest, wilful, wild for the South, but I think that’s why Rhaegar loved me so much. I could guess why you want to stay here and I certainly have my suspicions, but what would be the fun in voicing them? So long as my son is happy, I don’t care what games you all wish to play.” Their eyes meet, grey against violet. “You will be my guest,” Lyanna begins, to Dany’s delight. “The last one died,” the Queen Mother finishes with a straight face.

Daenerys breath catches in her throat and Lyanna lets out a laugh.

“A joke,” the Queen Mother adds. “Share a tale with me! Oh, please don’t make it about lace or dancing, I have no patience for those kinds of stories Southron ladies like to hear.”

Her thoughts are consumed by memories of her travels overseas when she would sit beside the sailors and beg them for stories. She recalls the time when one swore that their life was saved by a merling, who dragged him to shore following a shipwreck. He had been so convinced by it, despite the legends of the merlings of the shivering seas being most vicious and unpredictable - if such creatures truly do exist. Daenerys decides to share that story. 

“Very well,” she begins. “We need to go back fourteen years…”

After she’s finished the story, Lyanna and her handmaidens clap. Daenerys looks up and notices a broad figure in the corner, barely detectable in the shadows.

“Come out, my son, before you give all my handmaidens a fright,” Lyanna calls, chuckling to herself. Several handmaidens spin around and all bow their heads, many blushing at the unexpected sight of the King. He’s has a relaxed appearance with a blood-red shirt tucked into black breeches, so unlike his usual formal appearance.

“Ladies,” he greets calmly, and then makes his way over to where they are sat. Daenerys looks up and offers him a smile, “Your Grace.”

She watches as King Jaehaerys, or Jon, as his mother calls him, presses a kiss to Lyanna’s pale cheek. He then shifts around the table and takes a seat opposite them. 

“Have you been treating Lady Daenerys well, mother?” The King says, with obvious amusement in his voice. 

Around them, most of the ladies disperse. It’s clear to see that the King visits his mother often and Daenerys is not certain why, but she likes him all the more for it. There is no man more powerful than Jaehaerys in all the Seven Kingdoms, but he does not seem to be consumed by such power, like all too many can be. 

Lyanna grins and presses a finger to her lips, in order to staunch a laugh. “Lady Daenerys proved herself to be very patient. I kept her waiting outside for over an hour.” Daenerys’ eyes snap over to the woman, who winks at her slyly. 

“Are you well, Lady Daenerys?” the King says, turning his attention fully on her. She shifts her head to meet his powerful gaze, and struggles not to be swallowed up in it once again. 

Her heart beats a little faster, _foolishly_. Daenerys knows that she must not fall too quickly for the King, or risk the future of her father’s great design. If she were to give herself to the King now, he would surely not leave his wife and Daenerys would no longer be mystifying to him. 

The King looks at her the way many men already have, as though they’re imagining her naked beneath them. She does not fault him for it, the mind often wanders to sinful thoughts. If Daenerys were to ask The Maiden for forgiveness, it would be for the thoughts that have swirled in her mind of _Jon_ naked atop her. She feels closer to him, for knowing the secret name that her mother calls him. A name spoken only in private, forged from the most powerful of bonds. 

“Quite so,” she responds lightly, and brushes her lips together. 

Feeling as though she does not want to intrude on the King and Queen Mother, she decides now is an appropriate time to leave the chambers. “If you will excuse me, I’ll take my leave now,” Dany declares, standing from her chair. Lyanna nods her head, but the King also stands up.

“I shall walk you back, Lady Daenerys. I know you have something of a habit for getting lost,” the King jibes, and her cheeks colour.

“Once…” she mutters to herself. 

She looks at Lyanna, who still looks amused. “I thought you were visiting me, my son,” Lyanna reminds her son. 

King Jaehaerys bows his head, “I shall be back very soon, mother. The serving boys won’t have even brought in the first course, before I have returned,” he counters, and then stretches out his arm, signalling for Daenerys to move.

“Thank you for your time, your grace,” she calls to Lyanna, as she begins to walk across the chambers towards the door. 

It’s a peculiar of the King’s to suggest that he walk her back to her chambers. Another handmaiden could so very easily have guided her back and Daenerys is certain that she could have made her way, on her own. It has taken very little effort for her to spend time with the king. The ease of the situation does not comfort her, in fact, it makes her more on edge. 

Daenerys knows that her name will surely be dragged through the mud, condemned by the people for being a mermaid or some other enchanting creature with evil intent. However unkindly they look upon the Queen, they will certainly loathe her more. 

Even if the Queen does not love the King, she will certainly not part with her crown. 

They walk side by side down the quiet corridor, which has grown darker as the hour grows later. Guards line the walls, standing impressively still as they walk by. Daenerys notices that the cat from earlier is walking near her once again, pouncing on the waist-high walls which lead out into a courtyard of stone. 

Silence fills the walk for a while, until the King interrupts it, “Will you remain in the capital?” 

“It would seem so,” Daenerys confirms, eyes following the path as they continue to walk. She does not look at him, but she can feel his eyes on her, peeling back her soul.

“There’s no one that you wish to return to? No dalliances?” Daenerys is surprised, but she doesn’t show it. A part of her wants to look up at him, but she keeps her face forward. She cannot seem too eager, it might rouse suspicion. 

“Who would I dally with?” she questions, although she does not expect an answer. 

“You are young and unmarried. Sometimes people fill their hearts early on,” he reasons.

“And sometimes they never do,” she bites back unexpectedly, and winces at the way that it sounds.

Daenerys has not been in the capital long, but even if her father had not told her, it would not be hard to see that the King is not in love. She captures her lip between her teeth to prevent any further outbursts. Instead, she focuses on the sound of the King’s breathing, which has not changed despite her accidental remark.

“Aye, sometimes they never do,” he agrees after a while, and Daenerys feels guilty. She feels his hands tighten around her wrist and then she is spun around to face him. The surprise movement makes her wobble on her feet, so much so that she almost collides with his chest. 

Heart hammering in her chest from surprise, she lets out a gasp as he lifts her wrist to his lips. “I would not wish that on you, my lady,” he rasps. Daenerys searches his eyes for answers and finds something beyond the harshness of the grey, something she cannot yet speak of. 

As if she were summoned, a figure dressed in green and gold silks, walks down the corridor with determined strides. Her features are pinched with annoyance, rouged lips pressed together. The Queen’s dark hair tied up into an elaborate southron hairstyle, all of it centred around the crown which rests atop of her head. Unlike the King, whom she has only seen wear his crown once, the Queen favours the obvious adornment.

“Late night stroll?” Daenerys hears the woman taunt, and her spine immediately prickles with tension. She snatches back the wrist which the King had hold of. 

King Jaehaerys turns at her side, to also face the Queen. There is something both elegant and unkind about the woman, who looks at her with venom. 

“Your grace,” Daenerys says slowly, to remove any quiver from her voice. She is not frightened of this woman, and she will certainly not bend. 

Contempt burns in the air, turning the mood sour. All three stand in the otherwise empty corridor, waiting for the first person to speak.

“Little girl, does your family not concern themselves with your whereabouts?” The Queen sneers, hands placed on her hips. There’s an obvious slur to the woman’s tone, which suggests she has been drinking. Daenerys wonders if this is a result of her marriage to the King, or if she has a taste for Arbor Gold.

Daenerys opens her mouth to speak, but the King speaks first.

“I was escorting Lady Daenerys back to her family,” Jaehaerys explains. She knows that the Queen is trying to undermine her beauty and allure, by calling her a little girl. But Daenerys is a woman grown, and she’s not frightened of a bitter Tyrell.

“That is the task of a servant, not a King.” 

“Thank you, wife, for your suggestion. Your time would be better spent understanding what is suitable for a Queen,” the King barks, which causes her to wince. It’s not out of sympathy for the woman, but out of sadness for the King. 

“You’re parading around a little slut,” the woman screeches, and Daenerys takes a purposeful step back. She will not engage in the conversation, not now. It is awkward enough that she is still stood there, while man and wife argue. 

“Allana, you are drunk! Go back to your chambers and sleep. I shall speak to you in the morning.” Jon whips back around to face the other direction, so that they can walk as originally intended. Daenerys looks back at the Queen and then up at the King, who motions with his head for her to walk.

They walk in total silence, and she can feel the tension as it rolls off the King. It’s clear that he’ll need to expel that energy in some manner. Maybe he’ll go and smash a few glasses, or tear apart his rooms. She pities his misery, although she cannot pretend that she’s his saviour. Nothing is natural about their meetings, at least on her part. It’s all contrived, drawn by her father’s skilful hand. 

Daenerys has little choice in all of this. But she has the choice on whether or not to care for the King, and she would certainly not condemn him to a lifetime of happiness. 

Once they reach her chamber doors, Daenerys looks from left to right, to make sure the hallway is clear. Without overthinking it, she grasps the King’s hand and presses her lips against the Targaryen ring on his index finger. 

“I shall pray for your heart,” she tells him, and then says nothing else as she slips into her chambers and presses her back against the wooden door.


	5. Chapter 5

**_311 AC_ **

**_King’s Landing_ **

Monford Velaryon is delighted when he hears of the King and Queen’s quarrel in the hallway. She tells him over dinner, just as she’s cutting into the roasted mutton. Her father gets so excited by the news, that he almost knocks over his ale, which sloshes from side to side in a metal tankard. Meanwhile, her brother looks reasonably pleased, although that has not distracted him from his meal. He cuts enthusiastically into his meat, appearing tired from the day’s activities.

Her father rubs his hands together, lets out another chuckle and then takes a big gulp of his ale. Right now, Monford could not be any more pleased. As far as he’s concerned, everything that he’s been hoping for is going to come true. 

Doubts, however, have already started surfacing in her mind. She worries over the Tyrell influence, and what that will mean for her future. House Tyrell certainly has the power and influence to destroy her. She looks up at her father and cannot help the sadness which rises. What if they cause another war? So many lost loved ones in the last one. Daenerys is not perfect, she knows that. But she likes to think that she cares more about people than others do.

“What is it?” her father says, his smile falling. 

“If all that you hope for comes true, what happens after that? Robert Baratheon waged war against King Rhaegar because of Lyanna. What would the Tyrell’s do if they are slighted? They are the second most powerful house in the Kingdom and Queen Allana will not go quietly.” The knot in her stomach grows bigger as she thinks of her family being slain, all because they wanted her to wear a crown.

“No, the Queen will not go quietly. But she will go,” Monford promises, and his words cut through her like ice. Daenerys wonders if her father knows something, or if it’s blind faith and ignorance which makes him so certain.

It’s not long after her father’s joyous outburst that he swans out of the room, still chuckling to himself with a cunning smile as he departs from the chambers, leaving both Daenerys and Lucerys in comfortable silence.

Her brother reaches forward and collects her plate, scooping the leftover mutton and vegetables onto his own empty plate. When Lucerys is around, no food is ever left uneaten. He’s always had a strong appetite and while she has often been accused of eating like a bird, her brother has more than made up for it. 

Daenerys takes a sip of her wine and slips down on the chair, shedding some of the practised grace which her mother has taught her over the years. 

“It may stink of shit in the capital, but they sure know how to cook,” Lucerys declares, as he wipes the gravy from his mouth and pats his stomach. Despite his gargantuan appetite, Lucerys does not have the overgrown belly that some men have - her brother credits this to his many active endeavours. Daenerys has never asked him to elaborate.

“Beautifully said, brother,” Daenerys responds drily. Lucerys would not dare speak in that manner if their mother were here, he certainly does not like to displease her. “You must tell that to the cooks, I am certain they will see it as the highest praise.”

“Daenerys..” Lucerys begins, in a way that makes her confident that he wants something from her.

Deciding to indulge her brother, she rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to the side as she leans forward, “Yes, Lucerys?” 

Her brother leans forward also, digging both elbows into the table. Lucerys rarely asks anything of her, since he has always been more protective of her and Marston, taking his role both as eldest brother and the future of House Velaryon very seriously. 

“What do you know of Leona Rowan?” The name provokes no memory or image in her mind.

“Nothing,” she responds with a shrug, although her brows furrow. She wonders what interest her brother has in the woman.

“Could you change that?” 

“For what cause?” Daenerys questions. If this had anything to do with the King, her father would’ve already asked. This is undoubtedly a personal request from Lucerys.

Lucerys looks torn for a moment, his young features contorting with displeasure. He stands abruptly from his chair and spins around, arms flailing before his hands slide into his sleek strands of hair. “The Lady is infuriating!” he exclaims, violet eyes wild. 

Daenerys lets out a laugh, one which has her doubling over. She feels it deep in her belly, so much so that she can barely breathe. Lucerys has a popular reputation when it comes to the Ladies, there are many who would gladly be the future Lady of the Driftmark. 

“Is she immune to your charm?” she taunts, her smile unmovable. Her brother does not respond for a moment, in fact, he grows eerily silent as the servants enter the room to come and collect all the plates. He stands in the corner of the room staring out of the window, while she remains seated at the table stifling another chuckle. 

It’s only when the servants have left that Lucerys throws his hands up in the air once again, “It is not funny, Dany!” he whines, uncharacteristically. Truth be told, Daenerys would very much like to meet the woman which has gotten Lucerys so wrapped up.

“So you need my help to capture the lady’s attention?” she asks, desperate for Lucerys to say it out loud. She can see the way his face contorts once again, as though it’s the most difficult thing for him to admit. Daenerys has witnessed many women swoon over her brother over the years, although that has often made him less interested in them. 

“Fine, yes, I need your help,” Lucerys concedes. 

Daenerys smiles, pleased with herself. 

**♖**

It does not take long for Daenerys to realise that the King is avoiding her. The interest which he has shown in the past makes it glaringly obvious when he chooses not to seek her out. She tries not to be disappointed by it. 

On the first day, Daenerys reasons with herself that there are many reasonable reasons why she has not been called upon, and decides that the King is probably much too busy running the kingdom to entertain her, which she is perfectly fine with. It’s not as though she has been given any indication that she should expect him to visit.

Her father is also away, busying himself with Small Council meetings and other important matters. It’s the first day that Daenerys begins to miss home and her mother. 

She pens a letter to her mother, sending her wishes and her thoughts on King’s Landing. Daenerys does not mention the King. Her father has already advised against sending ravens which include their plans, especially when it comes to their future. There’s a thin line between ambition and treason.

A day turns into a week, and the King is quite clearly avoiding her. Therefore, she decides that she will also ignore him. When the King chooses to seek her out, she will not make it easy for him. He can grovel for her attention, if he’s so determined to deny his interest right now. 

She swears it to herself stubbornly, as she stares up at her bed canopy and drowns out the sound of her handmaiden's chatter. 

The first time that she sees him, he’s in the hallway surrounded by other Lords. She hears his laugh and it makes her insides clench. Daenerys walks past him and averts her gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she wonders after him. This has gone beyond her father’s games. She wants him to pay attention to her and not because it can place a crown atop her head. 

Damn him! 

Daenerys keeps her head held high as she makes her way down the corridor and out into the Queen’s Gardens, where an abundance of blue roses fills her sight. It was commissioned by King Rhaegar, for his beloved Lyanna. Stone statues of dragons and direwolves peek out of overgrown bushes, almost watching her as she passes down the narrow stone pathways, which all spiral around a central stone canopy. Pale blue fabrics sway in the wind as they hand down from stone pillars, and the sound of a gentle laugh lures her in. 

Copper shines beneath the fragments of the sun, which peaks out from the blanketing clouds, as Sansa steps out from beneath the canopy to motion towards her. 

They’ve arranged to have tea together, along with a few of Sansa’s close companions. Leonette Fossoway and Margaery Tyrell are both in attendance, Lady Sansa’s good-sisters. From what she has heard of the family, Leonette is gentle natured, motherly and lyrical, and has three children of her own - all girls. While Margaery is married to Renly Baratheon, the Lord of Storm’s End, a title he was appointed upon the death of both Robert and Stannis Baratheon. One by Rhaegar’s blade and the other by Ser Barristan Selmy. 

Alongside them sits Joanna Lannister, daughter of Jaime Lannister and Sybell Marbrand. When Daenerys had been told of what happened to King Aerys, she was most shocked to hear that when King Rhaegar was crowned, he spared Jaime Lannister’s life and released him from his vows. Her father has always said that it was because King Rhaegar secretly plotted with Jaime to bring down the Mad King. He did not, however, spare Tywin Lannister’s head, which was quickly parted from his neck following the deaths of Rhaegar’s first wife Elia and his two children, Rhaenys and Aegon. 

Rhaegar never liked fighting, she was told, but he went into a mad rage and killed the mountain, when he found the bodies of his children. 

So many horrific deaths, so many innocent lives lost. Her stomach turns at the thought of it. 

“Lady Daenerys!” Sansa greets warmly, rising from her seat once again to press a kiss against her porcelain skin. 

There’s a vacant seat between Sansa and Leonette, which Daenerys takes. The table before them is filled with so many delicious treats, and her mouth almost waters at the sight of the lemon cakes. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Daenerys says, giving a confidence glance around the circle of ladies. She wonders if Lady Margaery has heard of her, if she is protective of the Queen, whom she is cousins with. 

“Not at all! We are always glad of new company and you have proven to be quite popular already,” Sansa says, folding her hands over her swollen belly. Daenerys looks down at where the woman’s hands are resting and lets out a little sigh. 

“It’s unexpected,” Daenerys comments, grateful when a goblet is filled with arbor gold, so that she can take a sip of the amber-toned wine. 

“The court is often entranced by pretty young things,” Margaery purs, popping a grape into her mouth with a sneaky smile and then swallows deeply. “I remember the year I first came to court, a golden rose. They said the King should’ve held off on a Tyrell virgin and waited for me,” she reveals, chuckling to herself. Margaery appears confident, bright, beautiful. It is obvious why she would have captured the minds of the courtiers. 

“Have any admirers caught your eye?” Leonette asks gently. Daenerys shakes her head. She does not want to be a fool and reveal too much. Then, what would she really reveal? That the King had shown some interest and then decided to ignore her?

“Shame. There are so many,” Margaery chimes, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Lions, snakes, roses, dragons…” Margaery murmurs, the last a little stronger. “Did you hear that King Jaehaerys was seen walking in the gardens with Rowena Arryn this past day? Loras said it was a peculiar sight.” Daenerys’ heart clenches foolishly. She does not want to be jealous. 

Daenerys does not let her smile fall, even as Margaery watches her like a hawk. She is unsure of the woman’s intentions and if she is a friend or not. It’s entirely possible that all the women sat around her are all loyal to Queen Allana and this is some clever plot to lower her guard. 

She catches Sansa’s eye, who gives her an encouraging smile. “Come to my chambers this evening and we can talk in private,” the wolf-girl turned rose whispers. Daenerys nods subtly and picks up a plum tart. 

“That cannot be right, Margaery. Robb Stark has been courting Lady Rowena, he’s in need of a new wife and mother to his young daughter,” Joanna argues. The young lion looks a little defeated as she says the words, and Daenerys is certain there is disappointment there. Perhaps, Joanna had been hoping to marry Robb Stark.

“Really? I thought he had an interest in Cerella Martell,” Leonette questions, her sweet face pulling together.

“Can you imagine a Martell in the North?” Margaery counters, her expression revealing all. 

Daenerys listens with interest as the ladies gossip. Growing up, Alyssa had always been her source of all courtly knowledge, since her friend liked to always put her nose where it shouldn’t be. 

She wonders if it annoys Lady Sansa, when she hears the ladies speaking of Robb in such a way, as though he is a prized cow to be won. Although, the Lady must not be able to deny the appeal which her brother holds. He will one day be Warden of the North, and is an obvious favourite of King Jaehaerys’, since they are bound by blood. The unfortunate demise of Roslin Frey, was unfortunately expected by many. They said that her hips were much too narrow to birth a child, and she struggled through many hours to bring Little Lyra into the world - at the cost of her own life.

“Joanna, do you have your heart set on anyone?” Margaery asks with a knowing smile. 

The Lannister Lady looks over at Margaery sharply. There is clearly some animosity between the two ladies, although Daenerys does not know where it comes from. 

“You and I both know that hearts have very little to do with it,” Joanna responds in a clipped tone, her previous grace and charm has been scuffed away by Margaerys’ pressing nature. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough now,” Sansa says. Daenerys notices that Willas Tyrell is walking over to them slowly, one hand on a walking stick and another hand fixed on a little girl’s wrist. Clearly one of Sansa’s children. Alongside the pair is a tall blonde man, dressed in shades of red and gold. He’s unmistakably Lannister.

Upon reaching the stone canopy, the little girl rushes over to Sansa. It’s a charming sight to see. Of all the ladies around the table, it is Sansa who seems the most content with her life and Leonette too, who appears to be in a marriage of love with Garlan Tyrell. The same can not be said of Lady Margaery.

“Ladies,” the Lannister Lord greets. “Sister,” he adds, and casts a quick glance over at Joanna. “I do believe that father has been looking for you.”

Their little gathering is called to an end and it’s Lord Elys Lannister, who offers her an arm. His bright red doublet is stark against her pale arms, as he guides her back inside. He’s tall and handsome, a fine match for any Lady. If the opportunity with the King had not arisen, Monford would likely have wanted to secure a powerful alliance through Lord Elys. 

“The court is made far lovelier by your presence, Lady Daenerys,” Elys compliments, and she’s certain that similar words have already been spoken to her by another. A smile is offered at the man’s gesture, as she walks her down quiet corridors, leading her back towards her own chambers.

Daenerys notices that the further they walk down the corridors, the closer Lord Elys gets to her. It’s almost unacceptable, and perhaps others would frown over her agreement to even take his arm. She shakes away her concerns, it’s only a gesture. 

Once outside her chambers, Elys takes a step back, but slides his hand down her arm in a suggestive manner. “Until next time, Lady Daenerys,” he says, and then bows his head at her. She watches his retreating form as it walks confidently down the hallway, and shakes her head with amusement. These men are all so foolish! 

“Lord Elys put his hands upon you,” a voice growls behind her in the darkness. She turns slowly and comes face to face with the King, who in that moment seems to tower above her. Firelight illuminates the shadows of his face, his grey eyes wildly looking down at her. Daenerys licks her lips in response, desire rippling through her blood. After days of wanting him to notice her again, here he is!

“And what of it?” she questions in a nonchalant manner, taking a small step back. Her heart pounds rapidly in her chest. Behind her relaxed exterior, Daenerys is flooded with excitement and then anger. He has been so cold to her, vacant, and she has been forced to endure silence from him for days. She reminds herself of her plan to show him the same cold attitude that he has given her. Let him be jealous! 

“I do not like it.” King Jaehaerys takes a step forward, and catches a strand of hair which frames her face, between his thumb and forefinger. Daenerys bats away his hand almost instantly and moves to walk past him.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she asks, trying to walk away from him, blue skirts flapping around her ankles. She sidesteps and he follows, stalking behind her while she walks calmly down the barren corridor. 

“Then you admit to playing me for a fool?” Her nostrils flare with agitation. If the King is trying to provoke her, he is well suited to the task. “I must admit, I'm disappointed.”

Daenerys spins around then, anger sliding down her skin like molten silver, “You are out of line, your grace! You flirt with me and then ignore me for almost a week!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. “What loyalty do I owe to you? Not to mention, you’re married!” she spits the last word. 

“You would dare speak to me in that manner? I am the king,” he asks, strangely calm. He grasps her wrists, holding them at her sides and walks her back, until she is caught between the stone wall and his firm body. His hot breath fans against her skin and she shudders in response. 

“Yes, I dare,” she responds, keeping her nerve. “Being King does not make you exempt for idiocy.” Her violet eyes bear into his own. 

In spite of their words, the tone of their voices has calmed. Daenerys’ shouts have turned to soft words, and she’s certain he can feel the erratic beating of her chest against his own. 

“I’ve cropped the heads of men for less than you have said. Do you not recall Lyonel Lannister?” Soft-spoken words flutter against the shell of her ear. 

“I’m sure you have. But I’ve gotten under your skin and you refuse to acknowledge that you desire me more than anyone.” Her bold suggestion is met with raised brows, but he does not deny it. “I told you I would pray for your heart. You have avoided me for days, for that reason alone.”

“You presume a lot for someone so young.” The King lessens the space between them, until they’re pressed so close together that she can feel every ridge of his lean, muscular body.

“Do you deny it?” she whispers, her voice quivering with a shaking breath. 

“No,” he admits quietly, brushing his lips against her own. Daenerys shudders from the contact, and finds herself leaning into his warm touch. 

“May I kiss you, Daenerys?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to leave you waiting on a cliff-hanger for too long. The response to the last chapter was incredible, thank you so much! I was so nervous to post that last chapter because I didn't know how people would react to jealous!Jon. 
> 
> My next priority is finishing the next chapter of Duchess, so look out for that in the coming days. For those wondering about ‘The Weirwood Tree’, it has been temporarily put on hold. I’ll be picking it back up in a couple of months.

**311 AC**

**KING’S LANDING**

For a moment she doesn’t say anything at all, she just listens to the thumping of her heart and the sounds of the King’s breathing, which remains surprisingly calm. A contrast to the thunderous noises she can hear from her own chest. 

She’s caught in his net, completely consumed and trembling with need. 

“Dany,” he whispers and the final support of her resolve buckles. 

“Yes,” she gasps, inviting him in as she is drawn closer, her eyes closed as her full lashes brush against high cheekbones. 

The first taste feels like a cure for poison, like it’s the only thing keeping her living. His plump lips press against her own, and her breath catches in her throat. This is the first time she has been kissed, right in the corridor, with the King of the Seven Kingdoms pressed up against her. He lets go of her wrists to cup her face between his hands, consuming her more fully. 

It’s full of longing and it makes her wonder if the King has ever kissed someone like this before. Her hands grasp his arms, as she grows dizzier, almost unable to catch air. It’s not soft and gentle, not like in the tales she’s read. It’s desperate and all-consuming.

She wants to remain like this, feeling all the need and passion. For a second, she wants to give him everything and allows herself to hope that one day she will. 

Reluctantly, she pushes him away when she comes back to herself. Anyone could see them kissing in the corridor and her reputation is not yet protected by him. 

“Stop,” she whispers, pulling away from him. “Anyone could come upon us.” Daenerys hopes that her explanation will be enough. She does not want the King to think she is denying him, simply for the sake of it. Although, she is concerned that if she gives in to her desires much too quickly, he will tire of her. Margaery could be right about Rowena Arryn.

“Come to my chambers.” It sounds more like an order than a question, but Daenerys shakes her head in refusal. She cannot give into him, no matter what they both feel. If she were simply playing her father’s game, it would not be so difficult to deny the King. But she wants this, she wants him.

“No. I need to meet with Lady Sansa.” 

“Come after.” He presses his forehead against her own, and she feels the heat of his skin against her own. Their fingers lace together, and she finds it maddening how close they are. She wishes that things could be more simple, that they could just be as they are now, without fear or consequence. 

Daenerys does not know the depth of the King’s feelings for her, but she hopes his heart is true. If this is all about the chase, and he simply wishes to hunt her, her heart will surely be scarred in the process. 

“No.” She turns her head away from him, so that she’s looking down the narrow corridor. A kiss is pressed to the side of her face.

“You keep saying no.” There’s clear frustration in Jaehaerys’ voice. 

“Yes,” she says, in a regretful tone.

“Dany.” Her heart stops for a moment. Why does he have to call her that? It’s not the name which is the problem, it’s the familiarity. The King is acting as though he already has a piece of her heart, but no promises have been made to one another. Their attraction has been implied. She wonders how the King would react, if she starts to refer to him as Jon.

“I cannot come to your chambers. What would people think? You’re married and I am not,” Daenerys explains, trying to get him to see her point of view. It is not an easy situation for her. 

The King tears his hands away from her, and presses a hand to his forehead.

“You keep mentioning my marriage,” he groans, his annoyance growing more prevalent. “It is a fact that I am well aware of.”

“And yet you ask this of me. I wish you happiness, but I do not wish to be treated like a whore. I deserve better than that.” The words weigh heavy on her tongue. Daenerys is sure she has said too much, but she’s not as pragmatic as the Lady Margaery is. Her temper sometimes gets the better of her. 

“Have I treated you like a whore?” he questions, dark features scrunching. 

“Not yet,” she responds, and slips out of his grasp. Thankfully, he lets her go without another word. 

Instead of entering her chambers, she decides to join Lady Sansa as arranged. It’s likely a little earlier than the woman is expecting, but Daenerys hopes it won’t be any bother. It will be nice to speak with Sansa, without Margaery’s overbearing nature. She’s certain that most are probably charmed by the golden rose, but Daenerys isn’t convinced - and she would rather be over-cautious. 

The walk to Sansa’s chambers is not far, to her own relief. She does not pass by anyone of note, including her father. She loves him deeply, but has little patience for his excitement. Doing as her father wishes has never been a challenge, but some of it has come at the expense of her own happiness. Daenerys does not want to be the King’s whore, and she does not wish to be hated by everyone in Westeros. 

To justify her actions against the Queen, she has arranged to visit the poorest parts of the city with Bethany. She wants it to be done in secret, without everyone calling her naming and cheering at her benevolence. Only the false do that, when they want to paint an image of themselves being good to the weak-minded. 

Daenerys knocks on Lady Sansa’s chamber door, and is relieved when the handmaiden who answers the door, does not look too surprised to see her. 

“Apologies if my visit is too prompt, Lady Sansa,” she says, as she walks into the room and presses a customary kiss to the side of the woman’s pale cheeks. 

“It is no bother. I did not specify the hour.” They take seats beside the fire, and Daenerys is offered a goblet of wine which she declines. “I apologise if our luncheon earlier was a little more fierce than you were anticipating. Ladies together can sometimes be a catastrophic mix of too many egos,” Sansa explains, green eyes apologetic. To the side of the woman is a piece of embroidery, which the Lady has obviously been working on. Daenerys has always had little patience for that particular task. 

“It was interesting to witness. But I am still grateful for your invitation.” Daenerys wants them to be friends, and not just because of any influence that Sansa may have over House Tyrell. She is not fool enough to believe that the house will simply fall in line, should Queen Allana be set aside in place of her. Having friends in the house will be vital for peace.

Sansa smiles to herself, “I do not think that Margaery likes you very much, although she’ll pretend otherwise.” Daenerys isn’t certain of how many years have passed since Sansa married Willas, but she presumes it is more than long enough to understand the nature of Margaery. “At the time, I think they thought it would bring prosperity for her to be wed to a Baratheon, but all it’s done is made their sweet rose bitter. Her young years have been wasted.”

“I do not know her well enough to pass judgement,” Daenerys replies, trying to be as pragmatic as possible. It doesn’t come easy. Honeyed words soon lose their charm.

“Oh, well she will certainly have judged you. I love Margaery, but do not be fooled into thinking she will ever be your friend. She has been jealous ever since Queen Allana was crowned.” 

Court life is exhausting, she begins to realise. No one is truthful, they all tell lies, and plot and play, all at the expense of others. “What of you? You say not to be a fool in trusting Margaery, but can I trust you?” Daenerys debates. Just as she does not know the rose, she does not know much of the wolf either. They can all offer friendship because she is the pretty new thing, but how many would kick her to the dirt at the slightest whisper of a scandal?

You neither trust no one or trust everyone. Either Way, it’s a certain enough way of landing in hot water. 

“I protect my family. Jaehaerys may have been born in the south as a dragon, but he is still part of the wolf-pack, and we stick together. If you look close enough at the chessboard, you can see what moves people are going to make. People will have their suspicions about you and some of them will certainly be right.” Daenerys isn’t sure where Sansa is going with this. Their plans could be foiled by Sansa’s protective wolf nature. 

“When I was a young girl, I dreamed of gallant knights and pretty girls. I believed in love and I liked to think that everyone I loved was going to get their happy ending. I was fourteen summers when I attended the wedding of Jaehaerys and Allana, it was supposed to be the most magical day in my life, until my own wedding. But when Allana looked at him, it was thought he was the most despicable human in all Seven Kingdoms and she still looks at him like that to this day,” Sansa tells her sadly, her porcelain features showing all of the disappointment and sadness from this. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Daenerys queries.

“There are many things which people can fake, that look in your eyes is not one of them. Forget all the politics and any plots your father is stewing, since this has obviously come from him, you care for the King. Whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.” Sansa has rattled her and Daenerys is lost for words. She could deny all knowledge, but the woman sat before her, would see right through that. From what Daenerys is beginning to understand of northernors, they aren’t interested in all the lies which people say. “There are some within House Tyrell who would not take kindly to me saying this, but you have my support.”

Daenerys frowns and has a quick glance over at the handmaidens, who seem to be busying themselves with their normal tasks. She does not want to be suspicious of everyone revealing her secrets, but she can feel the walls closing in around her. It makes it difficult to breathe. 

“Take care, though. I feel uneasy at court and I fear there is more than what meets the eye,” Sansa warns, causing Daenerys to shudder.

She realises that in order to be taken seriously, she will need to be seen as more than just a little girl. Daenerys needs friends. Powerful friends. 

That night, she lies in bed and thinks of Sansa’s warning. She hopes that those closest to the King are loyal to him, and not to Queen Allana. What cause would they have to betray the King? They may no longer ride on dragons, but the Targaryens are still the true power in the Seven Kingdoms. It’s clear to her, that the King tries his best to be a fair ruler. Her father has mentioned times when the King has had to make terrible choices, to sacrifice one to save many. Other rulers would not even bother themselves with the details.

On her nightstand is an unopened letter from the King, which she dares not read yet. If her father becomes aware of its existence, he will force her to read it and then deliver it to him. But she wants a moment when she is not thinking of seducing the King.

It seems silly, but she feels sad whenever her father is around. He used to talk to her about all sorts, never shying away from the details since he always liked her questioning mind, but now all he cares about is the King. Has she seen him? What have they talked about? Did they flirt? All things which ordinarily, she would keep to herself. 

Daenerys wants to feel free again, even if it is just for an hour. She could take one of the one-person sailboats, and take it out onto the bay. She misses the scent of the saltwater, and being able to dip into the seas off the shores of the Driftmark. 

She leans over and snatches the letter, stuffing it into the drawer beneath a history book she’s been reading. It can wait until the morning. 

When the morning comes, the letter is all but forgotten. The hustle and bustle in her chambers begins at daybreak, while her ladies riffle through her catalogue of gowns, trying to find the simplest one among all the highly embellished and revealing pieces. 

They settle on a pale blue gown, which has long arms, a modest neckline and simple flowing skirts. A piece of fabric is used to wrap around her head and neck, to conceal her identity somewhat. She leaves early, with Bethany at her side. 

Once they arrive in Flea Bottom, she begins to realise how truly bad things are. Her father has told her on numerous occasions that before King Jaehaerys’ rule, it was far worse. But that hardly says much. She observes a young boy drinking from the water, that another has just washed their feet in. Her stomach lurches at the sight. 

“How horrible,” she whispers to Bethany, who nods her head in agreement. 

Her mother has often taught her benevolence. They would visit the villages, to give bread and coin to the poor. Marston, among his many talents, was good at fixing things. So he would often speak with the people, to see what needed to be mended in order to improve their way of living. Leaky roofs and broken doors. Water pumps which had not worked in years. Marston needs to visit King’s Landing, to see what can be done to make things better.

The putrid aroma which she has come to associate with King’s Landing is most sour here. Filth lines the dirt and she almost shudders from the squelch that can be heard, as someone steps over a pile of manure. It’s the most disgusting place that she has ever been to. 

“Look, my Lady,” Bethany says. Daenerys looks in the direction of where her handmaiden is pointing. Crouched on the ground in a woman, likely just past girlhood, sobbing against a woodshed. She’s covered in filth, her dress torn and hanging limply from her bones. It’s a pitiful sight. 

Daenerys walks over slowly and crouches in front of the woman.

“Are you alright?” she says softly, her eyes full of worry. 

The woman looks up and bats out her hands, causing Daenerys to almost stumble back onto her bottom. 

“Get ta way. I’m fine!” the girl half-shouts. Bethany gasps at her side, unused to a harsh reaction from the helpless. No one looks over at them, just as no one else was looking at the shivering woman. They all have their own problems to deal with, so they ignore the troubles of others.

“What happened?” Daenerys presses, refusing to move away. Her mother has often said that she is too stubborn for her own good. 

“Yer not from round ere. Yer speak too posh,” the thin woman hisses, rubbing a dirty hand against her nose roughly. Up close, Daenerys can see just how weak the woman appears - she’s so thin, starved. 

“Please,” Daenerys says again, hoping that the woman will open up. She does not make the mistake of moving her hands forward, since the woman will probably bat them away again.

“Yer nosy miss!” She can’t help but laugh in response to the woman’s blunt observation.

“Yes, I am. But I’d like to help.”

The thin woman scoffs, “No one round ere wants ter help!”

“I do. Now we can sit in the dirt and have this conversation, or you can tell me over a cup of wine.” Daenerys offers her hand, which the other woman takes. Her grip is surprisingly strong, despite the stature of the fading woman. Her skin is dirty and coarse, unlike her own which is often massaged with scented oils. How differently they live. 

“Soft skin,” the woman comments. “Definitely not from round ere.”

They walk to the local tavern, one which does not specialise in whores, although there are plenty of those. Daenerys orders a jug of wine for the table, and three cups. “Would you like anything to eat?” Daenerys asks, hoping the tavern has more to offer than the ‘bowl of brown’ she has heard of. 

“Na, I’m good. Just the wine,” the thin lady responds. Daenerys wants to question the woman’s choices but doesn’t. 

“Why were you crying in the streets?” Daenerys asks, once they’re sat at a table in the corner. It’s dimly lit and all the windows are dirty and faded. If her father were to discover she had visited such a place, she would certainly not hear the end of it. High born ladies don’t visit taverns! 

Daenerys watches as the woman opposite her, takes a large gulp of wine and then tops it once again with the jug. “I was one of Tansy’s Peaches, but she said I ain't ripe no more. No one wants to pick me,” sourness rolls off the woman’s tongue. The woman has thus far, not had a kind life.

“Tansy’s Peaches?” Daenerys echoes, frowning.

“Whores, missy. Damn near cut ma feet apart walkin back to the capital, that be why I’m in bad shape.” Daenerys looks past the sticky wooden table, which she’s been refraining from resting her arms upon, and looks down at the woman’s feet, which are caked in mud and blood. “Thought someone might pay a coin for me in ter Capital.”

Daenerys knows that she can never compare her life to another’s, especially when they have seen far too many things that she cannot even imagine. She does not want to come to the people as their saviour, so that they should be grateful for her presence. But she does want to help.

“What is your name?” she asks gently.

“Bella.”

Clearing her throat, Daenerys reaches into the pockets of her gown and pulls a handful of coins from the hidden purse. When she settles them on the table in front of the woman, she hears a gasp.

“Yer canny give me that! They be thinkin I stole 'em,” Bella yelps, the panic in her blue eyes rising. 

“What can I do?” Daenerys knows that she is out of her depth. The situation in King’s Landing is far worse than she has ever seen. There are plenty more Bella’s on the street, all lost souls with no direction or purpose. She needs the crown’s funding, in order to make things better for the people. People need to learn skills.

“I’m not sure, miss. But you’re startin ter attract unwanted attention, so yer best be goin.” Bella’s warning comes just in time, as gentlemen are beginning to look over to where the trio of women are sat. 

Daenerys leaves a couple of coins on the table for Bella, hoping it won’t cause too much attention. The walk is brisk back to the castle, as they try to hurry back without looking too suspicious. 

Upon reaching the entrance, the guards begin to question her business in reaching the keep. Removing her hood does the trick, her valyrian features are difficult to mistake. They fumble over their words and part to allow her through, she offers them a friendly smile. They are only doing their job. 

Inside the castle, everything is familiar once again. There is not a hint of dirt on the scrubbed floors and the putrid stench from Flea Bottom, cannot be smelt here. Perfumes fill her nostrils and she welcomes the floral aromas. Being born into finery makes most spoiled, and she is certainly guilty of it. Daenerys likes to take daily baths and wear pretty gowns, things which she certainly takes for granted. 

She does not expect the King to approach her, when they enter the throne room. His expression is surprisingly stoic, and not full of the mirth she has become accustomed to seeing around her. Daenerys wants to reach out and push away the mask on his features. 

Bethany takes a step back and bows her head, clearly wanting to give her some privacy.

“I have my answer,” the King says cooly. His voice is as blank as his expression, and she cannot begin to understand what he is talking about. He stands far enough apart from her to not cause any suspicion, and this time it is definitely on purpose/ 

“Excuse me?” Daenerys asks. She looks at him questioningly, but he doesn’t meet her gaze.

“I won’t bother you again, Lady Daenerys.” 

The King turns away from her and she is lost for words. Answer to what? Daenerys walks out of the throne room, and tries to comb through her brain, wondering what he could possibly mean. When last they spoke, it was her that walked away. He had not asked her anything since then, except…the letter. 

She had forgotten about the letter. 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I'm back with another instalment of Bloodline. I hope that you enjoy it, as I've done something which is out of my comfort zone this time, so fingers crossed it pays off.
> 
> For those wanting the next chapter of 'The Duchess and the Wolf', it's almost done and should be posted tomorrow morning.

**_311 AC_ **

**_King’s Landing_ **

Daenerys rushes back to her chambers and demands not to be disturbed. No handmaidens, no visitors, nothing. They all hurry out of her room, while she scrambles over to her bedside table and yanks open the drawer, the handle rattling obnoxiously. Still there, beneath the ageing history book, is the unopened letter from the King. Her previous carelessness now taunts her.

She stares at the front of it for a moment, catching her breath. How could one letter change everything? She feels the paper between her fingers and traces the letters of her name, which has been inked by the King’s hand. His writing is not as fancy as she would expect, but he has probably spent more time in the yard learning how to fight, than perfecting his handwriting. 

She turns around and sits on the edge of the bed, unprepared for the contents of the letter.

Flipping over the letter, she breaks the wax seal and unravels. 

_ Dany, _

_ Putting pen to paper can often be difficult for me, I’m not as lyrical as my father was and I do find it challenging to articulate my feelings for you. When I am with you, I forget about everything else and as King, that is both a blessing and a curse.  _

_ When you ran from me, I admit that I was offended. Your lack of faith in my intentions made me question many things. I would be ashamed to think I had done anything to make you feel unworthy, or though I only desire your body and nothing else, especially since my mother speaks so highly of you.  _

_ There is so much that you know of me and yet I wonder how much you know of the true me at all. If you wish to understand the man Jon and not the King Jaehaerys, meet me at sunrise in the Godswood. The choice is yours.  _

_ If you do not come, I will take my leave of you, since it seems I have been bothering you for far too long. Come and I’ll know my efforts to grab your attention have not been in vain.  _

_ Jon _

Shit. It’s the only thing which comes to mind. Daenerys rereads the letter and feels a sudden helplessness. This was her opportunity to get to know him better, beyond all the titles and concerns of what things mean between them. He had offered her a chance and she hadn’t taken it. 

Daenerys pockets the letter, stands up and takes a deep breath. She is not going to panic, or tell her father, cry or do any other foolish things that would make the situation worse. She’s going to go and find the king. This cannot and will not be it for them. 

**JAEHAERYS ( JON )**

“Forgive me, your grace, but these vicious rumours are a threat to your rule.” He presses the pads of his fingers to his temple, hoping to alleviate some of the growing tension. It’s plainly obvious to him, despite his council’s honeyed words, that they believe his rule is weakening. He cannot afford to simply be Jon right now, he must be King Jaehaerys, father of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Fists clench in agitation, as he curls them against the ancient table. “Rumours. That is all that they are, Lord Baelish. Unless you have heard something different?” he asks, features drawing in as he frowns at the perfumed man. He knows that someone around the table has betrayed him, that they’ve been feeding secrets to the pretender. 

“I think that what Lord Baelish means to say is that some may hear of this man and rally to his cause, especially those loyal to House Martell,” Lord Varys says, with more honeyed words. There have been very few tests in his rule, unlike his father, who had to put down the Greyjoy rebellion. Prior to his ascension, he had ambitions of being a just and honourable leader, one which men would gladly follow into battle. 

Every time he sits on the Iron Throne, he is reminded of the purpose of its discomfort. Many aspire to wear the crown which he holds, but it is a far less desirable thing when one is in the position. It’s all about duty, and love has often been sacrificed. 

“Does anyone among you believe this horseshit? If so, the door is there. But believe me, my sword will follow you.” His words are blunt, bitting. Jon has never been one to mince his words, he’d rather just get right to the bloody point. 

Jaehaerys looks to his Hand, a man who had previously stood beside his father for many years. Arthur Dayne is still to this day, a formidable fighter and has a keen eye for strategy. The next question is directed at the Dorne-born man, “This pretender has not stepped forward for thirty years, why is that?”

“We don’t know, your grace,” Arthur sighs. “I can make my guesses though.” 

He can too. He’s in a loveless, childless marriage, and has been for the past twelve years. To his enemies, he seems weak, and incapable of carrying on the Targaryen legacy. Do they not realise that it’s important too? That while he would be happy to see the crown pass to the Stark line, he would much rather hold a child in his arms. His child.

“Are you not supposed to be the smartest men in the kingdom?” he mutters, scooping up his tankard of ale. He has never been much for day-drinking, but it is holding more of an appeal in these sessions. But they’d love that, wouldn’t they! Jaehaerys the drunk, childless fool. What an end to a great dynasty. 

“Have you given any further thought to an annulment?” Lord Velaryon asks, causing him to raise a brow. Of course, he would be the one to ask. These men think that just because he is the youngest among them, that he somehow knows nothing of the plots being spun in his own kingdom. 

“Why? So you can throw your daughters, sisters, cousins at me?” he bites sharply, glaring across at Lord Velaryon. Looking at the fair-haired man, makes Jon think of his far sweeter daughter. For one moment he had allowed himself to feel something other than the cold which has consumed him for so long. Years have passed since he has shut off his heart, so why did he even give Daenerys a chance?

“You need an heir,” Lord Velaryon continues, as persistent as ever. 

“You know my thoughts on this matter,” he reminds the council. The ache in his head grows stronger, the more agitated he gets over the silly conversation. The line of succession has been something which they’ve discussed plenty of times in great detail, should anything happen to him. 

“Robb Stark cannot inherit the throne, he is not of royal blood,” Lord Velaryon argues. The Master of Ships is determined to annoy him today, that much is clear. 

“He’s of my blood,” he reasons. Not long after his birth, Robb was brought from Riverrun to the capital, to become a ward of his father. A way of keeping an eye on the next generation of Starks, who had supported Robert Baratheon in the rebellion. 

“His father was a traitor,” Mace Tyrell snarls. It is a surprise to hear such words spoken from Lord Tyrell, who is entirely too oafish for Jaehaerys’ liking. If not for keeping peace on the council, he would have someone replace the golden pissing rose. Even Jaime Lannister would be better, at least he can be certain of loyalty. 

“Be careful, Lord Tyrell. My uncle was spared, and I shall not judge a son for the sins of his father.” He would hate for his mother to hear slanderous talk against his uncle. It was Lyanna who petitioned for his life and she was the one to bring up Robb, making them feel more like brothers than cousins. Soon enough, once he has whittled out the traitors, he will offer Robb a choice. He can stay in the capital and join his council, or go home to the North. Ned Stark is unlikely to die for many years, but it would be good for Robb to spend years in the North, prior to taking the title of Warden. 

“The common people will not accept him.” Lord Mace’s cheeks grow pinker from the conversation, obviously flustered and trying to keep what wits he has. 

“Then who would you suggest?” It’s not really an option, but he wants to see what Lord Tyrell can come up with. 

“Let it go to Willas, he already has two sons.” 

“Tyrells, everywhere I bloody turn.” Jaehaerys rolls his eyes, “No, my lord.” 

“Then you must remarry, your grace. If you must set aside Allana, why not choose someone else from House Tyrell? Elinor, perhaps?” Lord Tyrell is visibly sweating. As Jon, he does not give two shits if the Tyrells are displeased. But as King, he knows he must act with caution.

“Stop with your plotting for once! I have had enough of this meeting for today,” Jaehaerys grumbles, standing up from his chair. It is a conversation which will continue in the morrow, preferably when his head isn’t pounding. 

He storms out of the small council chamber, visibly agitated as he heads straight for the yard. He would very much like to go and chop something down about now. He doesn’t like to let his emotions get the best of him, but sometimes he cannot help it. 

They all forced him into a marriage with Allana Tyrell, and now they would have him set her aside because the nursery is empty. There are many good reasons why he should annul his marriage to Allana, starting with the obvious contempt which she holds for him. But even so, it is incredibly dishonourable to set her aside because they have not had a child. No one in the council would dare question his own virility. Maybe he is the bloody problem. Allana certainly seems to think there is something wrong with him.

Jaehaerys ignores the calls of others as he charges down the corridor and out into the training yard. Normally, he would try to be more attentive to his people’s needs, but he is in no mood for their whining. 

Thankfully, the yard is empty. He pulls out his sword, the ruby jewelled hilt glinting beneath the sun as he wipes the sweat from his brow. It is always so hot in the capital, and you’d think to be a Targaryen, the heat wouldn’t bother him. It’s a ridiculous notion. There’s nothing magic about the Dragonborn men any longer, it’s all dried up with the godforsaken heat. 

He swings his sword at the dummy, hitting it with precise force. Having trained under some of the best men in Westeros, he is now very talented with a blade. All men get knocked on their arses when they take up a sword against him. 

One day very soon, the fight will come to him. This so-called Aegon Targaryen will sail across the narrow sea with an army, bought for by using the Targaryen name, and fight him on the battlefield. Civil war will once again take Westeros by the throat.

He thinks of Daenerys’ loveliness - beauty that will be made less innocent by war. He feels the fool to allow himself to have been blinded by her when it is now clear to see that she has no true interest in him. Monford must have thought himself smart when he brought his daughter to court, mere days after their conversation of him remarrying. Dany had seemed so genuine and warm, unlike the cold which Allana always shows. That’s not to say that he is noble in their marriage since he passionately despises her too. 

Another loveless marriage would be a terrible waste. He does not wish for another Lord’s daughter to be pushed towards him against their will, to be bound in matrimony, only for them to be poorly matched and he be as unhappy as he is now.

His mother remains hopeful, as always, that he’ll be happy eventually. 

Jaehaerys curses as he remembers his evening plans. Ordinarily, he would join his mother for dinner, and more often than not, Robb will also join them with little Lyra. But on this night he will, unfortunately, have to join his wife for dinner. Their weekly dinner is often full of hostility and suspicion. 

It’s a while before he comes inside, leaving his sword to be sharpened as he is followed instead by the Kingsguard. He would rather they not guard him so closely since he is capable of protecting himself, but Arthur always insists and that man has always been as close as family. 

He takes as long as possible to clean and redress for his evening dinner, making small talk with the servants as he sips on a mug of ale. 

“Your grace, Lady Daenerys came asking for you earlier, while you were in session,” one of the servants reveals, and his fists tightens a little. When he sat down to write the letter to Daenerys, he told himself that if she didn’t meet him in the Godswood, he would do themselves both a favour and leave her alone. Her father can push all he wants, but if Daenerys isn’t interested, there is no point in entertaining thoughts of her and him together. But that kiss did not feel as though she was faking her interest. 

“Did she leave any message for me?” he asks gruffly, clearing his throat. 

“No, your grace. She seemed to be upset and in a most urgent mood to find you.”

The Jon in him wants to believe that there has been some misunderstanding, but the King has to be more cautious than that. He has people that he needs to think of, people who need a strong leader and not uncertainty. If he were to leave Allana and chose another wife, would that be the moment when his enemies would attack? He has a precarious relationship with both the Martells and the Ironborn, adding House Tyrell to that would certainly weaken his position as King. 

There is more than just his heart on the line. 

When he makes his way to his wife’s chambers, his thoughts are consumed by Daenerys. He does not wish for her to be hurt ever. 

Allana’s chambers always feel so unwelcoming. Every handmaiden is from House Tyrell, and there is nothing of House Targaryen in the chambers. His wife refuses to wear his colours to outwardly spite him at every turn, and her green eyes cut into him with every glance. Sometimes, he wonders if this is the price that he is to pay for his parent’s love. 

“Wife,” he greets rigidly. Allana gives him a look which could curdle milk. Her mood is worse than usual and his ears are already ringing from the screeching sounds she will inevitably make. He’s handed a glass of Arbor Gold, a wine she would most likely poison if she had any opportunity of getting away with it. 

“Husband,” Allana responds tightly, motioning towards the table which has already been set and filled with lots of food. His stomach rumbles in response to all the pleasing smells. “I know your favour beef, but I asked the cooks to prepare lamb.” 

“Food is food,” he responds with a shrug, and spoons parsnips, cabbage and spinach onto his place of meat. He reclines back into the chair and looks around at all the handmaidens. He wonders if Elinor Tyrell, Mace’s prospective next choice is among them - most likely. The woman probably knows and is already conspiring against the Queen for the crown. They all think that a crown will make them happy, but in  _ Jon’s  _ opinion, it just makes you fucking lonely. 

As he cuts into his meat, he glances up at Allana who is staring at him with her arms crossed. She has made no move to eat the food which she specifically requested from the kitchens. “What is it Allana?” he asks tiredly. 

“My handmaidens have mentioned that all anyone can talk about is your little whore.” It cannot be jealousy which is talking, but the woman’s pride. Jaehaerys has never betrayed their marriage, despite the many temptations over the years to do so. He’s focused on his kingdom at every turn, until Daenerys. Kissing her was like he had been cold for so many years and he finally felt warm. Which is complete bullshit because it’s too hot in the South. 

“Do not call her that,” Jaehaerys snarls angrily, gripping his spoon tightly. Allana smirks, she’s like a vile serpent that knows exactly where to bite every single time. In the beginning, he had tried hard to make their marriage work. They did their duty, but he never pushed her after that. He tried to be attentive where he could, and she was never interested. Allana never tried, not once. “You forget your place, madam.”

“Do you think that she could actually care for you?” Allana taunts. Jaehaerys made a vow when he was a young boy to never strike a woman and dammit he’s stood by that his entire life. He doubts it would make him feel any more powerful to slap her anyway, she’d only see it as a victory and he would feel shame. “It’ll be her father’s ambition and nothing more.”

“Anything would be a step up fro you, wife. I question if you are even capable of the emotion.” Every single conversation of late spirals like this, until all they can do, is hurl insults at one another. It’s exhausting and the only reason he attends is to keep up an appearance of togetherness. Allana thinks that her position as Queen is safe because of her family. But even Mace would gladly replace her with another Tyrell. 

Jaehaerys has never been able to understand his wife’s motives. What does she gain from being so uninterested in their marriage? It will certainly not make her popular. She was supposed to be a charming child who grew up in the South, just a few moons younger than his sister Rhaenys. The two were young, but close, until death parted them, from what Arthur has told him over the years. 

They sit in silence for the remainder of the evening, which he is grateful for. It allows him to be at peace with his thoughts, which are much too full. A slender arm brushes against his own, and he peers up to see one of the Tyrell handmaidens stood close to him - probably Elinor. Sometimes he wishes that he could just escape it all, run away for a thousand years. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ 311 AC _

_ King’s Landing _

When she is called to her father’s private study, Daenerys begins to guess what their meeting will entail. Her doting father has become consumed by the idea of glory and she would like just one conversation, where the focus point is not King Jaehaerys. It is a fools hope, the naive dream of a girl still wanting to be her father’s most precious jewel. But what else would he want to discuss with her? All the family thinks about now is the next move, with her being their most important chess piece. She feels less a queen and more a pawn. 

Daenerys considers not joining him immediately, but she does not wish to provoke her father. He rarely loses his temper and it is never directed at her, so she would rather not change that streak. Ordinarily, she would be accompanied by her retinue of handmaidens, but she tells them to take the day for themselves. She doesn’t want them to hear her private conversation with her father. Most are loyal to her but she knows they’ll whisper all the same. Some just cannot help it.

She has not yet resumed her search for the King. Naively, she had hoped that if he heard of her trying to find him, he might seek her out. But the contents of the letter have made it very clear that if she did not meet him in the Godswood as requested, he would not try again. 

After she has visited her father, she will demand that the guards let her through to see him. They had been amenable before when she’d fluttered her eyelashes and pleaded to see the King, they looked regretful when telling her of his absence. They must have seen how sorry she was.

She knocks on the door of her father’s study and waits until she is called, which is barely any time at all. Monford is not one to be kept waiting and that means he rarely keeps others waiting either. Daenerys has witnessed men going into her father’s study and then leaving no more than three minutes later, most in a huff that he has not bent to their demands - some reasonable and some not so reasonable. 

Upon entering her father’s study, she’s hit with a gentle breeze. Every window has been swung open, beaming light into the moderately sized room, while the sheer curtains ripple in the wind, trying to come loose from the hooks which hold them back. It’s a false reminder of home and not something to clutch onto. This is not the Driftmark and she would be a fool to think that this is going to be a pleasant conversation. 

Monford’s desk is situated in the centre of the room, and her father is sat poised with his elbows brushing against the finely crafted desk, pale green sleeves contrasting against the beautiful dark wood. 

“Sweet girl, take a seat,” Monford says smoothly. His voice is silken and sweet like honey, a dangerously deceptive combination. It’s a tone which has been used over the years to end many men. Daenerys is no fool. 

She does as he orders and perches on one of the seats, which is situated directly in front of the other side of the desk, in line with her father’s own chair. Her skirts fan around her and she folds her hands on her lap, looking up at him expectantly. The expression on his face gives very little away and the silence stretches on, as Monford finishes inking parchment with whatever schemes he’s planning. Only when he flips it over and seals it with wax, does he finally meet her gaze. 

“How have you found your charge?” her father asks, referring to the task which she has been given. She wonders how honest she ought to be with her father. If her heart were not involved then it would be simple enough to spill every last detail but she wants to keep some for herself. This connection which she has with the King, it’s not something which can be faked, and she doesn’t want to be commended as though it’s a great task.

“Daenerys?” She realises that she hasn’t spoken at all and her father is now waiting, hands clasped firmly together in front of him with a stern gaze in his eyes. 

“Sorry, Father,” she murmurs, pushing her lips together. “I like it well enough. The King is a fine man and I believe that he cares for me.” Daenerys does not admit to the recent snag, the lack of communication which has left them at odds with one another. It is something which she can smooth over, explain. 

“Have you given yourself to him?” There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes, but Daenerys is too shocked to look into what it could mean.

“Father!” she exclaims, in a scandalised manner. It is not a subject which she wishes to discuss with her father, especially when he now sees her as a mere bargaining chip.

“Mace Tyrell is not opposed to an annulment, but only if Elinor Tyrell is put in place of Queen Allana. I cannot have these ideas taking root in the King’s mind, Daenerys. Tell me what progress have you made with the King!” Monford’s calm demeanour does not crack but she can feel herself growing angrier at her father. Damn him. Damn his ego and his pursuit of glory. She feels as though he is already lost to her, too consumed with ambition to even realise that the respect that she has always held for him is now diminishing with every passing day. “Your silence is not encouraging me, daughter,” Monford presses. 

Daenerys is tempted to stand and leave, but to do so would be admitting defeat. Of all her father’s many games, this is the only one which has ever hurt her. She thinks for a moment of Elinor Tyrell, a petite dewy-eyed girl, who walks around in a uniform of green and gold, following the Queen dutifully. Would a girl like that make the King happy? Another Tyrell being forced around him, surrounded by roses. 

Daenerys isn’t conceited enough to believe that she would be saving him. But she is confident that she would happily share her heart with his. 

“It is not an easy task, father. It requires time and  _ patience _ ,” she responds, enunciating the final word with a slight flare of her nostrils. Her fingers rest upon her seahorse locket, holding it tightly within her grasp. The chain reminds of her of a noose, one which she may come to meet if her father is not careful. 

To the unfamiliar, Monford would seem unaffected by her words. But she knows him better than that. There’s a quiver of a brow and a quick flash in his eyes. His jewel laden hands encircle around a goblet of wine, and he takes a long deliberate gulp. “We have very little of either. The vultures will soon swarm in trying to pick at the remains of a once-great dynasty.” 

“Is that not what we are?” she bites back angrily. The metal of the locket bites into her skin as she squeezes it tighter. Daenerys is tired of every conversation that she has had with her father.

“I would like to visit mother.” Her calmly spoken words are sliced by an instant shake of her father’s head. He leans across the table, his cool demeanour not at all disturbed by the growing tension of their conversation.

“There is no time. You cannot be running away to the Driftmark, Daenerys. You are no longer a little girl,” he explains, and her heart sinks a little further.

“Then bring her here, dammit! I wish to see my mother,” Daenery orders, furious with her father’s refusal. He asks too much of her and will not even budge an inch for her. Her wants and needs are surpassed by her father’s plan, which cannot be deviated from. 

“Daenerys, you are acting like a child.” Monford’s reprimand carries weight, even though the inflection in his tone is minor. 

“I am a child! Your child. Or have you forgotten that in your lust for power?” Daenerys asks although she knows it will not be answered the way she wants it to be, or at all. Through disappointed eyes, she sees her father clearly now. Every warm golden childhood memory is cast into darkness, ruined and shadowed by what he now asks of her. A single tear slides down her face but she is quick to wipe it away. Monford won’t see her tears.

Before leaving the room, she angrily rises from her seat and straightens her back, shaking away all the tension so that when she leaves the chambers, no one will suspect that she has had an unpleasant conversation with her father. 

“Daenerys, we are not done,” her father’s voice cuts into her, grating along her nerves as she struggles to contain the rage within. She may not be a Targaryen, but there is still fire in her veins. 

On her mother’s side, her great grandmother had been a Targaryen. Elinor Lefford’s mother had been Ravella Baratheon, daughter of Ormund Baratheon and Rhaelle Targaryen. It almost means that Daenerys’ grandmother had been sister to Steffon Baratheon and aunt to Robert, Stannis and Renly. Something which neither the Lefford or Velaryon families wish to remind others of. Few like to speak of the dark days of the war, although they court it all the same. Her father must know that the Seven Kingdoms will once again be thrown into civil war if the Tyrells are slighted. 

Daenerys turns back to her father for a moment, “Yes, we are,” she tells him, and then flees out the chamber with all the grace she can muster. The hallways are full of courtiers which litter the stone walkways, laughing and hiding their sneers with waxed smiles. Court breeds dishonesty, and for the people that live there, it’s a way of life. She too is guilty of it. 

Her hands tremble with adrenaline as heads towards the exit of the Keep. Daenerys realises that she is in no mood to charm the king and will most likely make things worse between them and she does not want that to happen. She knows in her heart that she wants his attention and affection for more than a silly plot, which is why she feels at odds with her father. Emotions cloud judgement and she does not wish to have every interaction with the king, cut apart by her father. What could she have done better? How is she to keep the king’s attention? 

Once she steps out into the baking sun, Daenerys releases a heavy sigh. Moisture grows on her skin quickly and she begins to waft her hand against her face, hoping to cast a gentle breeze against her body - it does little to aid her. 

Daenerys covers her head with a light veil, just as she had when she visited Flea Bottom. She begins to make her way down the dusty roads, which lead to the River Gate. If she were in the Driftmark, this would be the time when she would throw herself into the sea, swimming with the tide while small fish brush past her legs. But she cannot do that in King’s Landing, mainly because the water is probably full of muck, among other things. It would not surprise her if there are more than a few decaying bodies in the river. 

Unlike the time before when she had walked the streets, Daenerys is wearing fine clothes. The silver seahorse glitters against her neck under the sun, while her pale lilac skirts shimmer from the flecks of gold coating the rich fabric. She could not look any more highborn if she tried. 

Still, she is not deterred from making her way down. Daenerys needs an outlet for her frustration and it has been too long since she has been on the water, even if it is in a small rowing boat. 

The further she walks away from the Keep, the more people start to look at her. Most go about their everyday chores, but stop mid-action, to gaze up at her. 

The hot air makes the smell of King’s Landing especially pungent, but she does not reveal her discomfort. Daenerys does not wish to offend anyone by seeming to be too delicate to handle the smells from the poor part of the capital.

Daenerys stops in her tracks when a young girl rushes over to her. The girl is small, very small, with tangled honey blonde hair and big green eyes. The dress she wears doesn’t fit the girl right, meaning it’s likely a hand-me-down from an older sister.

She kneels in front of the young girl, who can be no older than six. It’s obvious that the girl is confident and not at all concerned about meeting strangers. No one steps forward from the small crowds, meaning that the little girl is probably not related to them. She must have strayed away from her parents.

“Hello,” Daenerys whispers softly, fixing her gaze on the girl’s soft green eyes. They are full of curiosity and thankfully, there seems to be little fear in them. Daenerys wishes that all children could have this look in their eyes, and remain innocent, away from the many horrors that affect the people which surround them. 

“Are you a princess?” the young girl asks, her voice full of wonder. There is no timidness in the girl’s tone. 

Daenerys smiles softly, “No, I am not a Princess,” she responds. But someday she may be the Queen. “But I do live in the King’s castle.” 

She watches as the girl’s smile grows wider. A tiny hand reaches out to stroke Dany’s silver strands, which have escaped the veil around her head. 

“You do?” the little girl asks, twirling Daenerys’ hair around her fingers. “I’d like to see the King’s castle!” 

A small chuckle escapes her lips, “Perhaps you will one day. What is your name?” she asks. Daenerys would like the young girl to be able to visit the keep, especially the Queen Mother’s gardens. Why should a little girl from the town not be able to become a handmaiden, or a butcher’s boy become a knight? If she were Queen, she would make it so that a child could be fostered in the keep, to be given more skills and opportunities than they would normally have.

“Mary,” the little girl says, twisting her body on the spot, in a kind of half-twirl. “Papa has a bakery on the Street of Flour. The girl points a little arm in the direction of where the street is, although Daenerys would be able to recognise it anyway. The air does not smell half as foul in that direction, in fact, there is a warm inviting smell that rumbles her stomach.

“Which one? I would like to know where to find you. When I am able, I will bring you to the keep for a day, so long as your papa agrees.” The little girl’s eyes light up even more and her smile grows wider, as she excitedly stomps her feet on the ground. 

“You would be able to do that?” the little girl asks. Daenerys’ expression quickly turns to confusion as she glances around and notices that the common folk are all bowed down. 

“Oh, I think she will.” The deep voice sends a shiver down her spine, enough that she can feel her nipples peak with desire, beneath the luxurious fabric of her gown. 

“Your grace,” Daenerys turns her head slowly and recognises King Jaehaerys, who stands in front of her with Barristan Selmy at his side. Protecting the king, just as he had Rhaegar. It has been days since she has set eyes upon him and it makes it all the sweeter now. 

“Lady Daenerys,” he responds smoothly. To Daenerys’ surprise, Jaehaerys kneels beside her so that they’re both crouched in front of little Mary. “I am sure that Lady Daenerys would bring you to the flower festival as her guest if you wish it.” In that very moment, Daenerys imagines him crouching in front of their daughter, talking to her about the flower festival, promising to dance with her. She wants to be his queen, to give him those things. The thought forms a lump in her throat.

“Absolutely,” Daenerys promises, squeezing the little girl’s hand softly. The little girl squeals and rushes away, likely to tell her papa. Once Mary has gone, Daenerys stands once more and becomes aware of just how close she is stood to the king. She wonders if the commonfolk are suspicious, or if they do not care. 

“It is not wise to leave the Keep, especially without an escort. I have love for all my people, but desperation drives them to do terrible things,” his warning is spoken with intensity, as though she is another royal jewel that must be protected. The possessiveness in his eyes is obvious, and he makes no effort of hiding it. “What were you doing?”

She looks past the king to Barristan Selmy, who dutifully glances around in search of potential threats. The king could protect himself, but as the only Targaryen left he needs to be protected. From what her father is said, the council are anxious about him doing anything which risks his safety. 

“I was walking to the River Gate so that I can row a boat,” Daenerys responds simply, motioning in the direction of the River Road. The king motions for her to walk in that direction, so she does just that. “You’re following me,” she observes, although she looks straight ahead. If the king is toying with her, she would rather not fall into that trap. 

“Aye.”

Daenerys frowns, although she could blame it on the glare of the sun which beams down on them. Jaehaerys wears a loose red shirt tucked into black leather breeches, making his appearance far less formal than she has seen him in the capital. The ruby hilted sword still rests at his waist, since he would be foolish to leave that behind. She can see from the string ties across his chest, his toned milky skin. 

“Enjoying the view, my lady?” Daenerys glances up from his chest to meet his eyes and then turns her head away from him. She wills herself not to blush. 

“I thought you had chosen not to seek me out.” It is difficult to keep the myriad of emotions from her voice as she speaks to him, although the feels pound in her veins. Anger, confusion, curiosity, lust...love? Daenerys has never experienced love, so it would be difficult for her to know if this is love or just an infatuation. Whatever she desired of Lord Sunglass, is a far cry from what she feels for Jaehaerys. Her Jon or Jae. A man by so many names and yet she only wants to call him one...husband. 

Now that she thinks on it, Lord Edric Sunglass always appears more interested in her brother Marston...although that is not something which Daenerys will voice. While she has no qualms with her brother loving another man, the Faith is not so open to it. Any rumour spoken of Renly Baratheon is always spoken with disgust by many, although she cannot understand how they can be so unkind. 

“Yes, that is what I said. But then you came in search of me, unless the servants are misinformed.” They are not. Daenerys remembers it all too well, begging to be seen by the king, only to be told that he was in council and not to be disturbed. “We are going to go out onto that rowboat and you are going to tell me everything, starting with your father’s plan.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support! I hope that you are all staying safe and well. The speculation has started to come in regarding Allana and why she hates Jaehaerys so much. There is a reason and I’ve actually written that future chapter already, although you won’t get it for a little while. Thank you so much for the continued support on this story, it’s grown so much and I’m very humbled by it. On Sunday, you can expect the next chapter of The Duchess and the Wolf, so look out for that! 

**_King’s Landing_ **

**_311 AC_ **

The River Gate is decorated with climbing vines, dark green leaves curl around the metal handle and there is a gentle humming of bees which circle the surrounding flowers. Most of the stems have grown long, with some of the bushes reaching her waist. There is something beautiful about how wild and untamed the greenery is, reminding her that the imperfect things are often the most enjoyable. 

At her side, the king is tall and broad, which is not so difficult given her petite stature. She finds it most interesting to see how the common folk move around him. There are few sneers in the crowd, proving that King Jaehaerys is well loved. Most stop and smile, leaving their mundane tasks for a moment to stare upon the king. 

It seems unnatural for the king to walk around smiling widely, as some would likely expect him to. The expression on his face is calm, comforted, a mix of duty and respect. 

Small rowboats decorate the river. Most are tied up and bobbing along the surface, but there are a few coming in to port. She can see in the distance where the end of the river meets the mouth of the sea, and even further away are giant ships docking at the port. 

She laughs as the wind ripples the skirts of her gown and coaxes the veil from her head. It’s snatched from the air by Jaehaerys, who passes it to her without a word. Since the king’s order, they have not spoken another word to one another, waiting to share their truths aboard the boat. Barristan did take some coaxing but has agreed to follow behind in another rowboat. Far enough away to grant them a sliver of privacy, but close enough that he is still there to protect them. 

The balding dockmaster struggles to contain his shock as he bows clumsily, obviously surprised to see the king by the riverside. There is an exchange of coins, which is more likely to buy the man’s silence than for the loan of the boat. Daenerys turns her head and pretends not to see, and chooses instead to glance down at where the busy fish market stalls are. She licks her lips at the thought of fresh oysters with squeezed lemon, she will have to visit the market after she has gone out onto the river. 

Jaehaerys motions for her to step onto the boat. It sways slightly beneath her feet, but her balance never falters. She has been climbing on boats since she could crawl. Daenerys settles down on the wooden bench and peers up at the king as he steps down also. She watches as he unfastens his sword and places it down on the bench beside him. It must be easier for him to sit without it fixed at his waist. 

Daenerys moves to grab the oars, but he shakes his head. “I’ll steer us,” he says, rowing them away from the shoreline. 

They glide seamlessly through the water as the king uses his strong muscles to calmly move them across the river. It seems that they are in no rush since she has no doubt that he would go much faster if he wished it. 

“You wanted to talk,” Daenerys says, hoping to break the silence which has formed between them. It has never been awkward between them, not even in the beginning when her only intention was following through with her father’s plan. She glances over the side of the boat where small fish skim past, ones too close to the shore to be caught in the big nets. 

“I am trusting you to be honest with me, Daenerys. Far too many people lie and scheme and I need the truth from you.” She believes him, just from one brooding glance her way. Everything is not always painted in gold for a king, especially when there seem to be considerable forces working against him. 

Daenerys swallows harshly. Her father has been so disappointing lately and yet he is still her family. How far should she go to protect him? How much does she want to? This is a chance for there to be nothing but truth between them. A promise that they will always be honest with one another. 

“The truth?” Daenerys echoes, glancing down at her hands. “Where even to begin?” It is not a question for the king, but rather one for herself. She knows that the king has some knowledge of her father’s schemes, although the extent of that knowledge remains unclear. She could lie for her father and could probably do it well, but she would not forgive herself for squandering an opportunity. Daenerys knows that home is not a place, it is so often the people and maybe, just maybe, Jaehaerys is her’s. 

“There had been talk, or so my father had said, of the council wanting you to set aside your current wife and remarry,” Daenerys begins, wringing her hands together. She often finds it easy to read the king’s expression, but he stares at her almost blankly now. “My father did not want to miss such a _ golden opportunity _ ,” she says with a hint of bitterness. “Being born a girl, you come to expect the way you will be treated by your family and what your purpose will be. My father never made me feel like I was just a bargaining chip, he made sure that I was happy and educated.” She bites down on her lip for a moment, steadying the whirring emotions inside her chest. Things are so very different now. Dany misses her father, the one which doted on her and encouraged all her many pursuits from the high-harp to swimming in the seas. The only saving grace is that her brother Lucerys still treats her the same. He just wants her assistance in his plan of wooing Lady Leona of House Rowan - A vivacious and unattainable woman. 

“It was asked of me to do whatever I could to gain your attention and affection,” she admits, looking straight at him. She will not shrink away and cower behind the truth. Just as he is trusting her to tell the truth, she is trusting him with it. 

“Was it all a lie?” Daenerys glances down at his strong hands which grip the oars, and then up at his features, which crack with anger. It hurts that he asks that, yet she understands why. She has seen very little of the king’s marriage, but what she has seen has been shambolic. Every person close to the king longs for him to be happy. Lyanna, Sansa, they trust her and it is all because of his miserable marriage. 

She scoots a little closer to him and moves from the top of the row-boat, to sit on the bench directly opposite him. It’s a boat which can fit up to eight people, but it’s just them and the burden of the truth. She hopes they can overcome it. 

“No, I never had the chance. You always sought me out and I wanted you to. Not because of any schemes but because your company is so intoxicating.” Daenerys won’t lose him, not now. She is risking so much by admitting the truth, including the wrath of her father. “During that first dance, I realised that my father had made a grave mistake. He had not taken into consideration how I would come to feel, once I got to know you. It would be far easier to lie about everything than to feel what I do now,” she says and catches her hand around the silver seahorse pendant which encircles her slim neck. 

“My father believes that if you were to come to love me, his entire fortune in this realm would change. He would one day have a grandchild sit upon the throne and for him, there can be nothing greater.” 

Jaehaerys releases the oars and grabs her by the neck, pulling her closer. The act is more gentle than it first appears, his thumbs caress her skin and his hold on her is soft. He’s not hurting her, he just wants her to be close. 

“Is that what you want? To be Queen?” he asks, closing the distance between them. She can smell the hint of citrus and warm spice from his hair, and the warmth which radiates from his body. His pale skin is damp, which makes him almost glow. He is everything she could ever want.

Daenerys shakes her head, “I want to be yours. I think we could be very happy together.” The boat rocks as he reaches forward and tugs her onto his lap. She lets out a tiny squeal and notices the way Barristan’s head snaps forward for a moment. She presses her petite hand against his chest, feeling how it beats in rhythm beneath her fingers. 

“Should I trust your father?” The question takes her by surprise. Her father does not want to undermine the king’s rule or covet power beyond that which is achievable, but he is dishonest in his methods. 

“My father is loyal and ambitious. He will not betray you, and yet I am sure he will ask more from you,” Daenerys tells him honestly. 

Jon clears his throat and snakes his arms around her waist tightly, “And if I cut off his head, would House Velaryon still be loyal to me? Would your brother avenge his death?” The dark words are whispers against her ear, causing her to shiver. “It depends on if it was justified. Most of the people love you, do not make them hate you.” Daenerys leans her head against his shoulder and peers up at the king with a soft look on her face. “You need my father’s fleet and I think you need his support on the council.”

“Indeed. He is one of the few that does not make the day more challenging. One among them has betrayed me and is feeding information to my enemy across the narrow sea, the false dragon”

“A mummer’s dragon,” she whispers to herself.

“What did you say?” The King touches her upper arm, staring at her intensely, as though he is peeling away the layers of secrets. 

Daenerys remembers wandering into the caves with Alyssa, both of them giggling with nervous apprehension. They had been told by some of the old girls that every lady visited a fortune teller, to ask one question. Daenerys asked who were her enemies, while Alyssa asked about Raymond...obviously. 

“When I was a young girl, I met a fortune teller, who said ‘beware of the mummer’s dragon’. I never understood what it meant or why it was part of my own fortune,” she says softly, brow furrowing. Jaehaerys’ enemy is her own enemy. “She called me a Slayer of Lies.”

She lets out a nervous laugh and shifts on his lap, “It is probably nothing.” For as long as she can remember, Daenerys has tried to reason with her own beliefs regarding any prophecies or fortune. There are some that believe in them wholeheartedly, and it can sometimes be their doom.

“Perhaps we were meant to find one another,” Jaehaerys murmurs softly. Daenerys tilts her head and rests her arms lazily over his shoulders. She can tell that Barristan has tasked himself with pretending he doesn’t see, even though they both know that he’d never take his gaze away from the King.

“I hope that is true, Jon” she sighs dreamily, relaxing in his embrace as she uses his private name, one only spoken by those whom he truly trusts. She knows this because before Lyanna had said the name, Daenerys had never heard of the King being referred to by that name. 

They both go still, gazing deeply into one another's eyes as though there is no one else around them. The rocking of the boat as it travels with the tide makes it feel dream-like, and she has to blink to remind herself that this is real. 

Daenerys is aware of every part of him, as they sit so close that she can feel his heartbeat spike against her own. Jon narrows the space between them, and her body prickles with desire. She breathes in the woodsy scent of him, and feels herself begin to drown in the depths of his silver gaze. Her fingers move from his shoulders, sliding up to cup the nape of his neck. How could anyone not love him? She can feel herself falling deeper and deeper, hoping that he’ll catch her.

Plump lips press against her own, taking her by surprise. It’s just them in this lonely world, and all the burning passion which swirls up in her stomach. Daenerys knows that she would burn for him, when he deepens the kiss and holds her closer. His grip is firm on her arse as he holds her against his body, lean muscles straining against her soft flesh. His touch is bruising and she likes the way it feels, his fingers biting into her skin. He needs her and she needs him.

When he deepens the kiss, claiming her mouth with his tongue, her hands slide over his hair tugging gently on the tied strands. She surprises herself by gyrating against his lap, releasing a gasp when a tinge spikes up her spine. His chest rumbles against her own, stealing away any chance of her ever desiring another man. This is why Rhaegar and Lyanna risked so much because in the fact of duty, who can deny love? Daenerys never realised that she was only half-full until she met Jon and realised he was the second-half of her soul. 

She feels him grow hard from where she is shifting her hips, making her release a surprised gasp. Daenerys cheeks colour as she reluctantly pulls away, to press her forehead against her own, trying to catch her breath. 

“We must proceed carefully if we are to do everything to avoid a war,” Jon says, sounding a little breathless. His grip loosens on her arse, but his hands climb up to her hips to keep her steady. The severity of his words sobers her and she pulls back to look at him seriously. 

“You would…” she begins, but her words are cut off by him.

“As you said, I think we could be very happy together. But we must practice patience, this will not be an easy path to travel,” he says, shifting her off his lap and onto the bench in front of him. “I cannot think straight with you sitting on my cock.” Daenerys blushes like the virgin that she is, and nods her head, choosing not to look in that general direction. She knows what is expected of her, she has been told that she must wait until her wedding day, but does she want to? A question for another day, she supposes. 

“If the Tyrells are slighted, will they not retaliate?” she asks with a shiver, thinking about the prospect of war. So many innocents, she wants to protect them and not lead them into darkness. 

“Mace Tyrell is old and unwise. His son Willas has command over the army and his wife happens to be one of my dearest cousins. If Olenna Redwyne were still alive, I would have cause for concern,” he says confidently to her, but she cannot help but frown. There are always traitors, even in families, although Sansa has shown her devotion to Jon. 

“I think you underestimate the enemy,” Daenerys says, the words slipping from her mouth. Some might be gelded for speaking too freely to a King, 

“Jaime Lannister is Lord of Casterly Rock, only through the grace of my father and the lion’s loyalty to the crown. He has the finest army in the seven kingdoms, and he would stand at my side. There are 10,000 soldiers in my own army Daenerys, and I also have the support of House Stark and House Greyjoy. I think House Tully would fall in line, out of duty and nothing more. House Baratheon may take their opportunity to seize the throne once again and they would fail. Dorne is unpredictable, I expect that if they believe the lies that this man is spewing about being my lost brother, they will likely support any opposition to me,” Daenerys nods, but feels uncertain. Dorne will no doubt have a formidable army, but with House Baratheon and maybe half of House Tyrell, they could be an unstoppable force. Wars aren’t necessarily won by numbers alone. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll do this together.” She forces a smile onto a face despite the sinking feeling in her stomach. Daenerys hopes the day never comes when she regrets this path. She has to have faith in herself and what she has chosen. Men will stand up and fight for their king. 

“How did you know about my father’s plans?” Daenerys asks, the thought occurring to her suddenly. He was far too confident that something was afoot, so it to be suspicion alone. 

“Aside from being glaringly obvious, your brother came to me. He said it was out of concern for you, although I suspect that he also wanted to prove his loyalty,” Jon’s revelation shocks Daenerys. Lucerys has always looked out for her, both her brothers have, but going against their father was unheard of. 

“He went behind my father’s back?” The disbelief is evident in her features. She has been told since the beginning that in this, she has very little choice. Daenerys had the belief that her father and Lucerys had conspired together, and that was why they were both grinning at her when she walked into her father’s study on that fateful day. 

“He was adamant about keeping you safe.” Jon explains to her, while reaching out to rub her arm. “Although, you have not given me any reason to doubt you.”

“What will we do now?” she sighs, knowing that she will need to speak with her brother about this. Daenerys cannot help but feel deceived, even though he had her best interests at heart...or so he says. She wants to make sure he’s not toying with her too, like her father is. 

“We will act as though nothing has changed. You and I will continue to spend time with one another, and if your father asks, you can tell him that the plot to seduce me is working. Do not tell him that I know of this plot, some things are better left unsaid.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, you were supposed to meet Leona in this chapter. But that is going to be pushed to the next one, although I hope you will prefer what I’ve written instead.
> 
> I hope that you all enjoy the latest chapter and that you're staying safe! 
> 
> The Duchess and the Wolf and A Taste of Darkness will be updated next.

**King’s Landing**

Daenerys welcomes the calming silence which follows their conversation. The gentle rush of the river soothes her worries, and the bird’s chirping brings a renewed spirit into her heart. They are really going to do this together, the two of them united against all unseen enemies. It will not be an easy battle, she is not naive to think it will be any other way. The King is confident. She hopes that he is quick, smart and lucky in battle. All the things which will keep him safe from those who would mean him harm. And she fears that there are many. 

Deep down, Daenerys knows that Margaery will seize this opportunity. When they had conversed in the gardens, she had seen the yearning for power in the woman’s eyes, the jealousy which was directed at her younger relatives and the contempt in her tone when speaking of Queen Allana. Margaery Tyrell dreams of being Queen, that is very clear. Renly Baratheon is rumoured to be a vain man, so it would not surprise Daenerys if he were to try and seize the crown, should anything happen to fracture the tentative peace. 

She looks up at the man who holds her heart, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. It seems that at every turn, old lords attempt to snip at his power. They will not succeed without a battle, and she’ll have to wait helplessly while the man who holds her heart, fights for his life and crown. 

“This would have been a lot easier if you were a farmer,” Daenerys grumbles, frowning up at the King. His arms cease their movement, allowing her to slowly glance over the toned exposure of skin, where he’s pushed the red shirt further up his arms to bunch around his elbows.

Jon lets out a chuckle, “I doubt you would have noticed Jon the farmer.”

Daenerys pulls a face at him, crossing her arms across her chest. “I think I would have. It’s not your title which is attractive to me, although it would be a lot easier on me if it was.”

He releases the oars and reaches for her hands, clasping her small ones between his own. “I am teasing you,” he tells her, causing her to scoff.

“Since when do you make jokes? You’re much too serious for that,” she responds defiantly, but in the same teasing tone as him. 

As he leans forward to fill the space between them, Daenerys feels her stomach flutter with anticipation. She thinks he is going to kiss her, but instead he moves his lips close to her ear. “There are many things you still need to find out about me,” he whispers, the warm breath against her skin sending shivers down her spine. Sparks of desire pool in her belly and her chest heaving beneath the confines of her shimmering lilac gown. Jon watches her for a moment and the groans. “May the Gods have mercy on me,” he mutters, pulling away. He resumes holding the oars, and she watches how he grips the wood tightly. 

“Are you alright?” she questions. To occupy her own hands, she begins to smooth out her bunched up veil so that she can place it back over her head, granting her some shade from the unforgiving sun.

“No woman has ever looked at me the way you just did, with deep-rooted desire rather than something purely surface level. I want you and you want me, and if my conscience would allow it, I’d take you in this boat for everyone to see. But you’re a Lady and I want more than just your body, so I’ll wait until we’re married. But then you’re mine forever, and I’ll make you forget any man that has even dared look at you as though they had a chance.”

Daenerys smiles at him, touched by his declaration. He respects more than just her body, enough to staunch any carnal desire for her - which is said to be ferocious in a man and certainly in Kings. Did people not always talk of King’s in history as though they all only have an appetite for war and sex? Yet here Jon is vowing not to touch her until they are married. And yet, she would let him if he asked. She desires him all the more for it because she knows this is real for him too. 

“You surprise me more and more,” Daenerys admits, unable to utter the words which she truly wishes to say. The truth in her heart which she can no longer deny herself. 

Jon shrugs, “My mother taught me how to respect a woman and she always talked so disdainfully of Robert Baratheon whoring ways, that I never wanted to be like that.” It surprises her that he mentions the dead traitor’s name. He had been obsessed with Lyanna and blinded by his own ambition. His rebellion had been enough to put an end to Aerys Targaryen, but that was an eventuality simply brought forward. 

“Why did you not meet me in the Godswood?” Jon asks her, reminding her of how close she had come to losing what they have. 

Daenerys swallows uncomfortably, “I did not read your letter until after you told me that you would no longer bother me,” she admits. “I was frustrated when I received your raven and I told myself to read it in the morning...but the morning was very busy.”

“Are my ravens not important enough for you?” he asks, eyes narrowing. There’s no tension delivered with his blunt words, and she is fairly certain that he is teasing her once again. 

She shakes her head, gripping her veil with one hand so that it does fly off her head once again with the breeze. “You know that your ravens are important,” she responds drily. “That morning was the first time that I visited the town, and I was more consumed with making sure I left the castle unseen and before my father could demand my presence,” she explains, recalling the challenges which she had faced with Bethany in trying to sneak out from the keep. 

“So today was not your first venture out of the castle?” Jon asks, resting his hand underneath his chin, elbow pressing against one of his knees. Concern marks his features, making him look older than his years. 

“No, I visited with one of my handmaids. We were dressed in disguise, although Bella saw through that straight away,” Daenerys explains, deciding to be completely honest about her previous trip down to the poorest parts of the capital. 

“Who is Bella?”

“She is...well she is a whore,” Daenerys responds with a small blush. “One of Tansy’s peaches, to be more precise, or at least she was before the woman kicked her out of the establishment. She was starving on the streets.” It saddens her that the woman’s life was based solely on her beauty and ability to please men, and the moment that her looks started to fade she was kicked out. 

“It is dangerous for you to go into the town without a guard.”

“Is it not equally dangerous for people living in the town?” she argues. If Daenerys is to be his Queen, she will not sit idly by while people suffer. Jon has done more than most, but it is not enough. The maester in the Driftmark has often told her about the importance of filtered water and how many illnesses it eliminates, that is the least that they can do to make things better. “I wanted to see what I could do to help. My brother has an interest in architecture, he helped me to rebuild the poorest parts of the Driftmark. I should like to do the same here.”

Jon glances up with an unreadable expression on his face, which is rare for him. Normally, she can read his emotions easily, as he has far more trouble hiding them than she does. “Why?”

“I want to leave the world better than I found it,” Daenerys responds simply.

All she gets is a nod and then they fall into silence, but that doesn’t bother her. 

More boats litter the river before Jon turns them back, rowing in the direction of the docks with Ser Barristan following behind. She enjoys the relaxing silence for the rest of the boat ride, embracing the small moment of peace which they’ve allowed themselves. Out on the river, it’s just them. The problems which they will certainly face are too far away for her to even notice them. She just wants to stay in the boat. 

Once they reach the dock, Jon throws out the rope for the master and steps out first, before then offering her his hand to guide her out of the boat. She doesn’t need his help but she takes his hand anyway. 

When her feet hit the solid ground she wobbles over so slightly and then steadies herself. 

Jon starts to move towards the Rivergate, but she remembers the fish market. Stopping her movements, she glances up at Jon. “If you need to leave that is fine but I am going to go and purchase some oysters,” Daenerys announces, motioning towards the stalls in the distance.

“And if I say that you cannot?” Jon asks. He may be testing her but she doesn’t care. Daenerys has known all her life that it’s her duty to get married and have children, but that has not stopped her from pursuing her own will. She will do as she wishes and sometimes not as she is told. 

“Then I would ask you to reconsider,” Daenerys responds, narrowing her eyes. 

The King does very little to hide his amusement, “If I still refuse?”

Daenerys grins, “Then I would go anyway.”

He snatches her by the waist and tugs him to her, crushing his lips against her own. The kiss is head-spinning and quick, and she stumbles back once he releases her. “I have a feeling you are not going to make my life very easy,” he says, tapping her nose with his index finger. She shakes her head and swats away his hand.

“You will never be bored,” Dany tells him with certainty. She watches as the King shares a look with Ser Barristan, an unspoken conversation happening between the two men. The longer it goes on the more impatient she feels. 

Daenerys turns on her heels and begins to make her way over to the market stalls, but her arm is quickly seized.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Jon asks her, matching her steps. Daenerys cannot help it, she rolls her eyes at the king. 

“Did you not hear what I said before? I am going to get oysters,” she responds with a huff, pointing once again at the stalls. 

“Then we’d better make it quick. I have a meeting this afternoon and I do not like being late.”

She frowns at his words, “I did not ask you to come with me, your grace. I am perfectly capable of getting oysters on my own, you can go along to your meeting.”

She hates when everyone assumes that just because she is a lady, she is incapable of taking care of herself. Foolishly, she had hoped that the king would be different, that he would trust that she is not a damsel in need of saving. 

“I know very well that you are capable of getting your own oysters, so calm your temper. But just because I know that you can take care of yourself, does not mean that you should. You are brave, willful, beautiful and it can be dangerous. Some would hurt you to get to me and I cannot let that happen.” A part of her wants to argue with him, to push against the suffocating confines of her life. But she knows that he means well and he does intend to treat her like a possession. 

Reluctantly, she lets go of her irritation. There is no reason for them to be bickering over something so small, she understands why he is doing what he does. As she had said before, life would have been easier if he were a simple farmer. She is certain that if Jon had the choice, he would not have Ser Barristan following him everywhere, as noble a man as the captain may be. They all have to make sacrifices.

“Do you know what they say about oysters?” 

Jon’s question makes her grin, and she hugs his arm while they make their way over to the market stalls. She knows exactly what people say about oysters, it was one of the many scandalous things which Alyssa had told her growing up. 

“Your smile gives the my answer,” Jon comments before she can.

Letting out a fake gasp, Daenerys glances up at him through full lashes, “I know not what you are referring to,” she responds defensively, although her sing-song tone suggests otherwise. If anyone were to see them now, it would be very obvious that there is something going on between King Jaehaerys and Lady Daenerys, they walk with linked arms as lovers would. 

“Hmm, I do not believe you,” Jon argues, stroking across her fingers with his free hand. “You are playing a dangerous game, Dany.” 

“I just have a hankering for oysters,” she sighs. She blames the sun for the heat raging in her body and not the man walking next to her. His hand continues to stroke her against her skin, and she wonders what it would feel like for him to touch her beneath her dress, to claim parts of her no other has. 

Jon bows his head to whisper, “You’re blushing.”

Daenerys swallows and gathers herself together, “You said you would not bed me until we are married.”

“That is correct,” Jon responds with a nod of his head. 

She stares down at the ground, pretending with herself that there is a very interesting piece of dirt in need of her inspection. “What if I wanted you to have me before?” Daenerys asks, the blood pounding in her ears. 

Jon stops in his tracks and turns her around slowly. She looks up from the ground and meets his gaze, “I would ask you to be certain that when the sun sets and you’ve had time to cool down, that you would still want it.” 

“I’ll still want you,” Daenerys tells him honestly. She knows that after some time apart for him she will regain her senses and remember why she should wait until she is married. It is what’s expected of her. If the people call her a whore for entertaining a married man, she can at least deny that. She could swear before the Seven that she is as virtuous now as she has always been. But she yearns for that closeness, to give herself fully to him without any reservations. “But you are right, we ought to wait until this is all over. Then both our conscience’s are clear.”

“Still want those oysters?” Jon chuckles, so she swats at his chest. Her father would be mortified if he saw her swatting King Jaehaerys’ chest, but he does not understand what exists between the two of them.

“Of course! I told you that I have a hankering for them, no matter what influence they have over ones desire. We have decided to control ourselves,” Daenerys responds, and in doing so reveals that she knows exactly what oysters do for a person’s sexual appetite. “In any case, a meeting with all those frowning lords should suppress any urges which you have,” she responds with a small giggle. 

When a couple walks past them, they gaze at her for a moment and then look awe-struck as they glance up at their king. “Your grace,” they rush out, while walking hastily past them. 

Daenerys knows that after today, there will be no doubt in the minds of others. They will remember what they have seen today, the king with a woman that is not his wife. She wonders if this is what the king meant by, proceed carefully. She highly doubts it. 

“What if they talk?” Daenerys cannot hide her concern. She does not want to cause more problems than they will already have. 

“They won’t. Every commoner that has passed us has been paid for their silence, until we are ready for everyone to know the truth. You are not a scandal, you are the woman that I wish to marry. That means protecting your good name, and while I cannot prevent every rumour which circulates, I can limit them. If anyone says anything, pretend that you do not hear them.” He makes it seem so simple, so easy. She isn’t certain it can be that way. But she hopes that the King is right.

Once they reach the market stalls, Daenerys smiles brightly. “Are they fresh?” Daenerys asks once she reaches an oyster stall. The woman nods her head, “Best in all of King’s Landin,” the woman says with a smile. She wonders if that is the truth, or if all the vendors say that. It is probably the latter, but she’ll take the woman’s word for it. They all need to make a living somehow. 

The woman tugs at a linen apron which is wrapped around her waist, covering a dull brown dress which looks as though it’s been mended several times, “What yer be having lady?”

“I will take two oysters with lemon,” she says, and then turns to Jon. “Will you be having one?”

“Tis’ good for the blood, make yer want to rut missy here like dog,” the woman says, much to Daenerys’ amusement. That is,  _ unfortunately _ , something which they are trying to avoid. It is quite clear that the woman has no idea that Jon is actually King Jaehaerys, which is not that unheard of. For most commoners, they have not even seen the King and therefore would not notice him without a crown and Targaryen embroidered cloth. 

“Yes, since I am confident that I can control myself,” Jon tells her with a chuckle. Daenerys reaches into the hidden pockets of her gown and retrieves a copper star from her cloth purse to give to the woman. Once the woman has cracked open the shells, she squeezes fresh lemon onto the oysters and then passes them over to Daenerys. Jon takes the spare from her hand and swallows the flesh, while Daenerys does the same. She drops the empty shell into a waste bucket. Delicious. She will have to ask that some be brought up to the castle, although she won’t do that now. It’ll cause too much suspicion among on the commonfolk. 

“What now?” she asks softly. 

“Now, my love, we must return to our lives and play our parts. I will see what I can do about funding for the remodelling of Flea Bottom, so I suggest you write a letter to your brother.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, old friends. I could give you a long list of excuses over why I haven't been around for several weeks, but I'm not going to. I'm back and regular chapter updates will resume!

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

Dinner is an awkward affair. Lucerys sits to her left, devouring the game pie and slurping down his ale eagerly. She knows that he is not oblivious to the tension in the room but he does a good job of pretending not to notice. Her father sits opposite her slowly drinking his wine, silently scrutinising her with his cool-toned eyes. The weight of his gaze presses down on her. Still, she refuses to buckle. When her father chooses to speak to her like the daughter he once cherished and not a servant to be ordered about, then and only then, will she give him her attention.

Daenerys pushes the food around her plate, having no appetite for the pie. It looks delicious and buttery, and it is very obvious that Lucerys is enjoying it - although that does not take much. Yet she cannot bring herself to eat it while her stomach twists in knots. Since her boat ride with Jon, she has been waiting for the rumours to start circulating about them. Two days have passed and nothing, not even a whisper. She feels all the more on edge for it. Jon’s assurances that it would be taken care of does very little to ease her growing anxiety. 

“Are you not eating, sister?” Lucerys asks, once he’s swallowed down a hefty piece of the pie. It is only among the family that her brother eats as though he has not eaten for days. In public, he is graceful and precise, utilising all of the lessons which their mother has taught them about manners. 

The thought of her mother brings bittersweetness. She misses Elinor Lefford greatly and longs to see her, and yet Daenerys is pleased that her mother cannot see how disappointing her father is being. Far gone are the simple days of her childhood, of lounging on the beaches and swimming with sea life. He always indulged her, granting her wishes and often encouraging her wilfulness - much to the dismay of her composed mother. How the tides have turned!

“I have no appetite for it,” she murmurs, staring down at the pie blankly. 

“Madness,” Lucerys mutters, swallowing down a gulp of wine. Daenerys does not think that the term should be so loosely thrown about, especially with the rumours surrounding the King’s own grandfather. She knows that she is being overly sensitive, and it is only being heightened by her father’s obvious disdain. 

“If you will excuse me,” Daenerys says, placing her cloth napkin onto the table beside her plate. Lucerys grabs her hand and prevents her from moving.

“I still need to talk to you about Leona.” Ah yes, Lucerys’ most recent interest. Daenerys had almost forgotten about her agreement to aid in her brother’s wooing of said Lady. She glances across the table at her father and then releases a small sigh. 

“We will discuss it in the morning, Luc. I’m retiring for the evening.” Daenerys rises gracefully, not once looking at her father in the eyes. As much as she wants to make amends, she is nobody’s pawn and she is tired of her father treating her like an object to be passed around. He needs to understand that she would help him because he is family, not because he ordered her to. But now things have changed and her feelings are involved, although she knows it would be far easier if they weren’t. 

Her father does not comment on her departure as she makes her way out of his chambers, the knife in her gut once again twisting. She never imagined that life at court could be so stressful, and she finds it hard to stay her course. Daenerys does not want to doubt her path, or regret any actions which she has taken. They may not always be the best, but she needs to grow from them. 

The older generations may not take too kindly to her entertaining a married man, despite the obvious separation between husband and wife. Daenerys wants to understand Allana’s motives for being so cold towards Jon. They live in a world where arranged marriages are expected, love is rarely ever involved. Most are able to find some form of companionship, yet she has clearly held on to a deep loathing for many years. Daenerys had seen it in her eyes before, and she sees the loneliness in Jon’s now. It’s troubling. 

Daenerys chooses not to dilly dally in the corridors. She hastily returns to her rooms, which are not too far from her father’s own chambers - probably so that he could keep an eye on her. 

Most of her ladies are absent from her chambers, likely having their evening meal, all with the exception of Bethany, who is undoubtedly her loyalist companion. Some among the ladies will spy on her, feeding information back to her father, information which she would not freely give. It makes trusting the people around her difficult, especially in these uncertain times. 

Daenerys smiles weakly at her handmaiden, shifting past the seating area and over to where the long windows blow a steady breeze into her room, rustling the hanging drapes. She stands at the edge, keeping her feet tucked in enough that an unfortunately stumble would not see her plummeting to her death. Her gaze follows the rocky terrain below, and she cringes at the thought of falling. Daenerys would much rather fly, just as the Targaryens once had. 

“I’ve turned down your bed, do you need help undressing this evening?” Bethany asks, disrupting her stream of thoughts. 

“No, thank you. I will be alright the evening, go and have your dinner.” The cool wind slides across her exposed skin, sending shivers down her spine. It coats her body turning her skin to goose flesh, but it reminds her of home. She dreams of the Driftmark more and more, but she knows it’ll never be her home again. She needs to make a new home in King’s Landing, she can only hope that she will come to love the place. But she will never be content with her life if she knows that people are suffering only a stone throw away. 

“Just a little push and all my troubles would be over,” a voice purs behind her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. Daenerys spins around quickly and steps away from the window ledge, coming face to face with the villain in her story: Queen Allana Tyrell. 

“Your grace,” she struggles with the title, clawing it desperately from the back of her throat. “What are you doing here?”

Daenerys’ heart beats so hard she thinks her chest will collapse beneath her tight corset, and she wonders if her guards are still stationed outside of her chambers - she doubts it, considering they’ve allowed the Queen to walk in freely with no introduction. 

“Is it not a privilege to be visited by your Queen?” The woman’s sharp voice questions, dark almond eyes narrowing as she presses her pale hands to her emerald covered hips. “Most ladies that come to court seek my favour, but not you...oh you want something far greater. Or at least something you perceive to be greater.” Allana sits down on the edge of Daenerys’ bed, It is an obvious power play, with the other woman wanting to show that Daenerys has no power in stopping whatever it is that she wants to do. 

“A visit usually requires an invitation or at least a warning,” Daenerys responds snarkily, crossing her arms over her chest. She looks down on Allana, refusing to be belittled by the woman. She hadn’t talked to Jon about how she should speak with his wife, should the occasion call for it. Daenerys does not wish to insult the woman unnecessarily, but she also isn’t going to be walked all over. “Why is it that you are here?” She reiterates her previous question, wanting to avoid an argument.

Allana smirks, serpentine lips curling up cruelly, “You have bewitched half of my court and I wanted to see what was so special...it seems that they are easily swayed by cheap tricks.”

Daenerys counts to three in her head, trying to swallow down the growing venom on her tongue. She doesn’t think that she is any way morally superior to Allana, but she isn’t interested in insulting the woman just to retaliate. She will have lost then. “I did not know that I had so many talents,” she responds, turning to pour herself a cup of tea from the pot which Bethany had left.

Allana rises from the bed and snatches her by the chin, “Do not think that you can fool me with your innocent act, I know you for the whore that you are. You think that spreading your legs from my husband will make you Queen...well think again, little girl. You cannot get rid of me that easily but I will most definitely get rid of you.” 

She clenches her teeth while Allana grips her chin harshly. Daenerys reaches up to grip the Queen by the arm and snatch her hand away. “I am not a doll that you can play with and I am no whore. Please leave my chambers now,” Daenerys near enough growls, her own eyes narrowing to match the woman’s venomous gaze. Some see Dany’s youth as a possibility for easy manipulation. 

“Are you not having fun?” the woman taunts, reaching behind Daenerys to grasp the glass carafe of wine. “We were just getting started.”

Ignoring the woman’s efforts to provoke her, Daenerys walks over to the door and tugs it open, “Unless you need something from me urgently, please leave. It is an uncivilised hour,” she says, holding open the door. She will not move until the queen has left. 

“Most would not dare speak to their Queen in this way, but perhaps you think the King’s affection will keep you safe,” Allana purs, shaking the carafe of wine which she appears to be taking with her - not that Daenerys cares. She is in no mood for wine this evening.

“You assume too much,” Daenerys responds, not allowing herself to fall into the trap of admitting anything to this woman. She will do her best to make life miserable for the King, Daenerys is certain of that. For unknown reasons, the woman before her carries a deep loathing for the man she ought to love most in the world. 

Allana shifts her footing and begins to make her way towards the door, to Daenerys’ relief. The woman does not depart without speaking once again, desperate to have the final word. “Even if you have him, you won’t be happy for long. There’s a storm coming, Lady Velaryon, and this one might just sink your ship.”

Daenerys slams the door shut the moment it’s just her in the chambers and presses her back up against the thick wood, while she curses whatever gods are tormenting her right now. Ordinarily, she would speak with her father about the concerning absence of her assigned guards, but she still doesn’t feel like breaking her silence with him. So she locks the door and gives it a firm tug to test, before tugging at her garments. She almost regrets sending Bethany away too soon.

When she climbs into her bed several hours later, Dany does not sleep easy. She is tormented by dreams and fears of something happening, something which she cannot control. As much as she would like to dismiss Allana’s poison as idle threats, she knows deep down that there is more weight in the woman’s words. 

She tosses and turns for hours, flipping her body to find a comfortable position which will finally allow her to drift to sleep. Sleep never comes and she finds herself blinking tiredly as the sun begins to rise, filtering in through the full-length windows, which bring in the scent of the seas and the trickling odour of the common streets below. 

Resigned to the fact that she is getting no rest, Daenerys throws back her sheets and climbs from the bed. Her petite feet pad across the cool floor, over to the windows. She leans her body against one of the support pillars and looks out at the birds soaring in the skies, untamed and cageless, free from those who would trap them for their own cruel amusement. 

She wants to be a bird, to be carried away with the wind. How far in the clouds would she need to be to forget about her troubles? Far enough that the people below look like insects and the imposing buildings are small enough to crush with her boot, like a castle made of sand. 

Later that day, Daenerys invites several ladies to have tea in the garden: Sansa, Alyssa and Leona. She hopes that it will help to ease in the Lady Leona, who has very little need to trust her. The Lady from House Rowan is beautiful, and it is easy to see why Lucerys is so taken with her. The woman is olive-skinned, with thick dark tresses and soft brown eyes, which appear innocent but catlike. She wears her house colours of white and gold proudly, and everything about her screams of wealth.

“Lady Leona, thank you for joining us today,” Daenerys says softly, smiling at the woman. She may not be as charming as Margaery when it comes to flattering nobles, but she hopes that she can be convincing enough. 

“Ah yes, well your brother’s efforts are transparent. But I will play along,” the other woman says, before sipping on her tea. It’s not the midday heat which warms Daenerys’ cheeks then.

“Pardon?” 

“Oh, I meant no disrespect. But your brother has not been subtle in his advances and it seems all too convenient that you would suddenly want to take tea with me when you haven’t asked before,” the woman says, quickly getting to the point. Daenerys glances at Sansa and Alyssa, who are both smiling behind their teacups. 

Daenerys tilts her head in acknowledgement and scoots back in her chair, “Then I won’t try to convince you that he’s a good match,” Daenerys responds with a shrug. 

“You don’t need to. I fully intend on accepting one of your brother’s betrothals, but he offers them so often that I haven’t decided which one I like best. There was the time when he stalked my riding companion and me, then there was another occasion when he scared away my archery teacher. He is rather persistent.” Daenerys cannot help the flare of irritation which surfaces. Lucerys is not perfect, but she does not enjoy the idea of the woman he likes toying with him.

“Do you enjoy toying with my brother?” she asks sharply, cutting through the relaxed atmosphere. Her instinct to protect her family is strong, especially when it comes to her brothers. Lucerys and Marston have looked out for her so many times over the years, she will always show them the same courtesy. 

Leona places down her teacup with a small jolt, clearly surprised by Dany’s switch in emotions. “No, it’s just a bit of fun. He knows that I’m interested, it’s why he’s so persistent. But your brother has a reputation and I want to make sure that he wants me for me, not because I’m a pretty girl that he can chase.” It seems that the Rowans have a more liberal approach to their children’s marriages, in that they allow them to have the freedom of choice.

“Well as his sister I don’t approve,” Daenerys says bluntly, clutching the glass of wine in place of her teacup. ‘If you must carry out your tests, let it be done quickly. Rejection can take its toll on anyone, despite how strong they may appear.” Daenerys thinks of the King then, of how strong he needs to appear in the face of his people. His vulnerable side has been exposed to her and she only wishes to nurture it. She wants to give her love fully, and have no obstacles in their way. If only life were so simple. 

“Lady Alyssa, word has spread that you are expecting your first child. Congratulations,” Sansa says, easing the tension which Daenerys has created. 

Her childhood friend smiles with delight upon the mention of her condition, her freckled hand instantly moving to rest on her flat stomach. “I cannot tell you how happy I am. Raymond is delighted with the news, and a wedding night baby is usually a sign of good fortune.”

Daenerys begins to daydream of what her own children will look like, which she has begun to imagine more and more. King Jaehaerys has waited many years to have a child, and in a selfish way, Daenerys is glad that she will be the one to give them to him. 

“Did you hear that the Queen was spotted leaving the King’s quarters this morning in her bedclothes? Apparently that hasn’t happened in some time, perhaps they are reconciling,” Alyssa says, unaware of her growing interest in the King’s heart. 

“Really?” Daenerys says, curling her hand up to prevent it from trembling. She can feel Sansa’s eyes on her, waiting to see if there is a crack in the mask which she has pulled onto her face. Behind it, she is screaming. She doesn’t want to doubt in Jon’s loyalty to her, but he is still married to Allana and maybe he thinks it’ll be easier to stay loyal to that situation, rather than fight for something new. 

“My handmaiden saw her, said she was laughing as she walked down the corridor. Something clearly made her happy. But I mean, look at the king...who wouldn’t want to share a bed with him?”

She feels the pounding of her thoughts in her ears and everything inside of her is screaming for her to run, to find Jon and ask him straight out if anything has happened between him and Allana. But she does not move, she remains seated, with her mask in place, drinking her wine to disguise her pain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry! I never like to leave people on a cliff hanger for too long.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, readers! I know that the last few months have been very flaky on my part and I’m sorry about that. If you’re still here and want to read my stories, I am very grateful.
> 
> I want to give you an update regarding where I’m at with my stories. I’d say that 80% of my attention is on Bloodline, which means I’m focused on finishing this story. I will be sporadically updating The Duchess and the Wolf, but Bloodline chapters will definitely be the most frequent. Once Bloodline is complete, I will give most of my attention to The Duchess and the Wolf and also pick up A Taste of Darkness ( I promised my best friend that I would give her an update ). 
> 
> For those wondering about The Weirwood Tree, I am working on it behind the scenes, but I’m going to post the next chapter once it’s written in its entirety so that I can post a chapter every couple of days until we get to the end. That’ll happen later this year. 

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

When she receives her summons from the King later that same day, Daenerys briefly considers ignoring him entirely. Although rational thought soon takes over and she knows that she cannot jump to conclusions just because Alyssa’s handmaiden witnessed the Queen leaving the King’s chambers in the early hours of the morning. It feels kinder to herself to disconnect slightly from the situation, to think of him solely as the King and not as Jon, the man whom she has deep feelings for.

“Are you well, Lady Daenerys? You do not seem yourself,'' One of her handmaiden’s questions, the newest and youngest of the bunch, her innocence reflected in vibrant brown eyes. Daenerys smiles at the girl, Meria, and presses the palm of her hand gently against the handmaiden’s clothed arm. All but the new handmaiden had left when she received the letter, but the girl had rocked back on her feet and bit her lip nervously. 

“You are sweet, little Meria. Run along and join the others, I believe they are coming up with ideas for their flower festival gowns,” Daenerys responds softly, dismissing the girl’s concern. She is a year younger than Daenerys and far more innocent than she had been at that age - she is an only child, whereas Daenerys had the questionable influence of her two brothers and Alyssa. 

Despite the innocence which the new handmaiden displays, she cannot help but feel wary of the new girl, although she wouldn’t like for it to show, just in case her suspicions are correct. But putting a sweet girl among the ranks of her ladies as a spy would undoubtedly suit her father or the Queen very well. Spies can take even the sweetest form.

It is easy to paint those around her as the villains in her story, malevolent beings desperate to control and subdue her will. Her father would take all of her liberty, and the queen would take all of her happiness. Daenerys knows that she is not all good, just as the queen is not all bad. That would be all too simple.

Stuffing the letter into an old wooden trinket box, which is decorated with iridescent sea horses, she decides to not delay her meeting with the king any longer, no matter how blissful the unknown can be. If their brief dalliance is to be put to bed, she would rather not delay the inevitable. At least then she can leave with her dignity still somewhat intact. She can retreat gracefully and her father will undoubtedly conjure up another match for her hand, perhaps the Young Lion. 

Daenerys never wanted her worth to be based purely on who she would marry, although it seems to be the misfortune of her sex to be judged in that manner. Her carefree childhood had been nothing more than a fallacy. 

Checking her appearance in the looking glass, she pushes the wrinkles from her gown and combs her fingers through the loose strands of her hair which flows in waves around her face. She counts to ten in her head and lets out a strong breath. She is strong and no matter what outcome she is faced with, Daenerys will find a way to overcome it. There is always another path, even if others cannot see it. 

She does not have long to deliberate whether she’ll leave the King referring to him as King Jaehaerys or as Jon, the man whom she cares very deeply for.

The walk to his chambers seems to be over in the blink of an eye and she is very quickly faced with his dragon engraved door. 

Members of the Kingsguard stand on either side of the door, stiff-backed and unflinching, with cool expressions which come from the seriousness of their duty. The door swings open and out steps Ser Barristan, who reminds her both of an honourable warrior and a watchful grandfather. He will have seen the King grow up to be the man that he is today, just as Arthur Dayne has. 

“Lady Daenerys, the King is expecting you,” Barristan says matter-of-factly and side steps to allow her to walk past him and into the opulent chambers. Sometimes you have to walk into the flames and pray you won’t get burned. 

Fingers snake around her hips, unrelenting vines that twist around her body and root her to the ground where she stands. A warm breath dusts the tops of her shoulders, while plump lips drag hers in for a searing kiss. It all happens so fast, Daenerys barely has time to process what is happening. 

She presses the palms of her hands against Jon’s broad shoulders and presses firmly, forcing him to take a step backwards. There is no recovery time before she voices her first question.

“Are you going back to your wife?” she asks, and the vines around her hips fall away as quickly as they’d come. 

Jon’s pale forehead crinkles in confusion, the smallest hint of ageing formed in the creases around his eyes as he frowns at her. He clears his throat and rests his hand on top of hers, the obsidian of his Targaryen styled ring glimmering beneath the bright candlelight. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Tell me,” Daenerys presses, looking at him with cool eyes. Beneath her well-conceived mask, Daenerys struggles to staunch the emotions which stir within her. She will not be played for a fool, and she still has an escape route which will soon disappear into nothing. 

“Your accusation is absurd, Dany. What more must I do to prove that my heart is yours? Cut out the bloody thing and carve your name into it?” He’s frustrated with her, it’s clear. Things are tense and she knows that. None of this is easy, no matter how much they both wish that it would be. People are desperate the see them fail, Allana most of all. But blindly trusting someone is more challenging than it might first appear. 

“The Queen was seen leaving your chambers before dawn.”

“You are so quick to accuse me. Have I not earned your loyalty, not least of all for being your king?” It is a low blow and they both know it. She has never imagined Jon to be the sort of man that throws a tantrum demanding that others should listen to him, simply because he is the king. 

She shoves away the hand which rests atop her own and turns towards the fire, the dancing flames pulling her in like a fiery siren song. “This is a man’s world, my love. She is your wife and most would say it’s your duty to fulfil that marriage, no one would question it. Just as I am your loyal subject and should you will it, I have a duty to obey you in all things. You can take whatever you want you’re the king,” she says with a roll of her eyes, while words tumble from her mouth that she does not believe in. It is her father's blessing and curse that he taught her to think. 

“That is not the kind of king or man I want to be, nor are you that woman. You aren’t here to warm my bed, you’re here to my Queen.” She thinks then of Lyanna, whose portrait hangs on the wall above the mantle, alongside the visage of King Rhaegar. He once set his marriage just as Jon will do, and Lyanna who thought her life would take one path found herself on an entirely different journey. A King’s affection can be a dangerous thing, it can start bloody wars which uproot the lives of all those in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Jon must notice her staring up at the portraits because he sighs softly and comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, “I will do all that I can to avoid civil war, although I fear it may already be at our borders. There are more rumours from across the seas of my older brother reborn, the true Aegon coming to claim his rightful title.” 

‘You trust me with this knowledge?” Daenerys asks, tearing her gaze from the portraits. The shadows from the fire dance across his handsome features and make his grey eyes blacken. 

“Aye, I trust the woman whom I love,” his hand snakes up her neck and behind her ear, cradling her head softly. Daenerys almost melts on the spot, touched by his affection. It’s in the pounding of her chest and the whooshing in her ears, the words which prickle the tip of her tongue. Love, true love. She had hoped for such a thing in her younger days but had always anticipated a lesser consolation. Such is the way of the world. She knows she needs to trust in their relationship, to trust in Jon. He has never given any indication that he would betray her, and she cannot expect the worst from him. 

“You love me?” she repeats dumbly, her skin growing hot beneath her gown. She had been deliberating over her own feelings, denying the word which he now says easily. 

“I thought that was obvious,” he teases, tapping the end of her nose with his index finger. He gently grips her chin and looks into her eyes for a silent invitation. Daenerys lessens the gap between the two of them and presses her lips softly to his. 

The fire crackles beside her as she takes her place at the dining table of Jon’s inner chambers, a place which she has not yet seen before. An ornately crafted bed carved with dozens of dragons into the woodwork is surrounded by a canopy of thick black drapes, it’s a beautiful piece of work. The Targaryen ancestors built so many glorious things and eventually, with the loss of dragons, their power seemed to dwindle. It slipped away between the cracks, like sand between fingers. Robert Baratheon would never have challenged Rhaegar if the Dragon King was seated atop Balerion the Dread, or another one of the magnificent beasts which once soared across the skies. 

“Will your father not be concerned by your absence?” Jon asks her while cutting into a spiced sausage. The servants had come in not too long ago and prepared the table with many delectable things. It’s clear from the size of Jon’s plate that he has a kingly appetite. 

“I am certain he would be delighted to know that I am here,” Daenerys responds with a clipped tone, still annoyed by her father’s recent treatment. Despite all his promises, he sees her as nothing more than a bargaining chip and a broodmare for the King of Westeros. 

King Jaehaerys and Queen Daenerys does have a certain charm to it, although she prefers the simplicity of Jon and Dany much more. Her father will want her to produce many sons and stay silent in all other matters. Men don’t like to imagine that a woman can gain power, perhaps they will fear that she would try to rule Westeros through the king. She hopes that Jon doesn’t want her silenced during their marriage, that would prove to be very bothersome. 

“Would you force our daughter to marry a man she does not want to?” Daenerys asks, and then winces. She realises that it may sound as though she is implying that she is being forced to choose him against her will. 

Jon drops his spoon and rests his elbows against the table with clasped hands directly upwards, a frown splintering the smooth surface of his face, “Do you feel forced?” he asks, clearing his throat. 

“That is not what I meant. I am fortunate in my love, but others are not,” she elaborates, standing from her seat. She walks the short distance over to where he is sat, and takes a seat on his lap as he reclines back in the high-backed chair, spreading his legs wide to support her weight. She loops her arms around his neck and focuses her eyes on him, “I am asking if you will make our daughter’s matches without asking them first.”

She leans into his chest and he wraps his arms around her, cradling her body against his. 

“Given the disastrous nature of my own bloody marriage, I would not force any of my children into a marriage they don’t want. Alliances are certainly important, but I would allow them the choice. Their happiness is paramount.” Daenerys knows that he has waited a long time for a child and there will be pressure on her to provide what Queen Allana has not, even if the pressure does not come from Jon himself. King Jaehaerys’ nameday brought into sharp reality the mortality of man, life is not eternal and all things must come to an end. The King needs an heir and that is why the council is so eager to push for a divorce. Her father was very confident about that particular matter. 

“What if we do not have children...would you set me aside too?”

Jon’s hands stroke down her bare arms, obviously trying to soothe her worries. Daenerys knows that she can do a lot of good for the people of Westeros, she wants to help the poor. She will need to discuss her idea of an apprenticeship for those who want to develop a new skill, something which allows them to improve their situation and change the cycle which has been their life and the lives of those who came before them. She is not just a broodmare, she is a woman with ideas on how to change the world for the better. 

“Contrary to what some will believe, I am not leaving Allana because she has not given me a child. I am leaving my wife because she is most cantankerous, and has never shown any kindness or interest in our marriage. We have lived separate lives for many years, and her visit to my chambers before dawn was just another poisonous move on her end. She has heard of my interest in you and wishes to turn you against me. So no, my love, I will not leave you if we do not have children. There are plenty of people who I can name as my heir if we are not blessed with children.”

“Good,” she mutters and presses her face into his chest. “But I would very much like to have your children.”

There is a gentle thrum of light footsteps and their solitude is broken. She lifts her head and sits upright in Jon’s lap, seeing that it’s Ser Barristan who is walking towards them.

“Your Grace, Lord Stark is requesting an audience,” Barristan says. She moves to rise from Jon’s lap, but he keeps his arm wrapped around her waist. 

“Granted,” Jon says simply, reaching past her with his free arm to pick up his goblet of wine. “You will receive no judgement from Robb. I trust him with my life,” he whispers against her ear. 

Mere moments after Ser Barristan steps back out of the chambers, Robb Stark walks in boldly, the silver Stark sigils embroidered into his collar glimmering as they catch the fire light. She can feel his eyes on her and then they switch to look at Jon. “It’s about bloody time!” he exclaims with a Northern broadness to his voice, although the years in the south must have diluted it somewhat. “When’s the wedding?”

“What do you want?” Jon asks, although there’s cheer in his voice beneath his natural broodiness. 

“Spoiling all my fun, Targaryen. I’ve got woman trouble,” Robb begins. 

“Oh, here we go,” Jon says dryly. “We’re going to need more wine or strong ale for this one.”

Robb takes a seat beside them and pours himself a glass of wine from the carafe. Jon and Robb appear to act more like brothers than cousins, which is touching to see. It feels less like Jon is only surrounded by enemies. 

“Rowena Arryn, I was set on her you know. I think she’ll be a good mother to Lyra and I was intending to ask for her hand. But Joanna Lannister visited my chambers last night, bold as brass, and said that she had always wanted to see the North. She bloody laid it on me and well she’s a beautiful woman, I could hardly say no. Now honour dictates that I marry her, but I’ll have to let down Lady Rowena.” 

Jon’s chest begins to shake behind her and she realises that he is laughing, while Daenerys does very little to conceal her shock. She would never judge Joanna, and it was apparent from their tea in the garden that she held some affection towards Robb Stark, but Daenerys is surprised by her brazen move. 

“Maybe think with your head next time, Robb. If Jaime Lannister discovers that you’ve bedded his daughter, he will demand that you marry her. You can save her the embarrassment of a public scandal if you marry her. But it is your choice, cousin. I am sure Lady Rowena will have other suitors if you seek other alliances. You could have chosen worse, Jaime Lannister has proved himself to very loyal to my family over the years….even if the same cannot be said for his father and sister.”

“What do you think?” Robb asks her, surprising Daenerys. She feels as though she has been invited into the inner circle. 

“I haven’t met the Lady Rowena formally, so I cannot speak on her. But your interest in her was once mentioned among the ladies, and the Lady Joanna did seem unsettled by it. I think that she has held an interest in you for some time and she saw an opportunity, one which you indulged. I don’t think she would be unhappy should you choose her, although I would certainly judge if she holds the same fondness for Lyra that Rowena does.” She watches as Robb takes a long gulp of his wine and then rips the glass away from his mouth. “You’re right! She’s a clever woman, Jon,” Robb proclaims, swiping the wine from his mouth. Daenerys notices that Robb does not refer to him as Jaehaerys either, which again shows the closeness of her bond. In her own mind she refers to him as Jon, just as his mother does, but who else knows him that closely? They must have hold his trust implicitly. 

“Aye, she is,” Jon agrees, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. It feels relaxing to be in their presence, there is judgement or animosity, it feels just like when she is with Marston. Lucerys, on the other hand, has always been far more serious and determined to keep their father’s favour. Although that seems to be changing.

“It sounds as though there may be cause for a wedding soon,” Daenerys says with a wink.

The question is, whose wedding will come first?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't supposed to be posted until Monday, but apparently I can't help myself. The goal is to post a chapter every Monday wherever possible and Chapter 14 is fully written, so it will be posted on Monday.
> 
> Thank you for the positive response to the last chapter! I'm glad a lot of you seemed to enjoy my little Robb side-plot.

****

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

There is a hive of activity at court, everyone buzzes about with excitement for the upcoming festivities. The Flower Festival gains a lot of attention each year, Lyanna tells her over breakfast one morning. It’s a time when many matches are formed, and ladies have come to associate it with that. 

More often than not, Daenerys spends her mornings with the Queen Mother. She is an interesting woman and perhaps a little less refined than some of the other ladies at court, which Daenerys finds endearing. Sometimes Lyra joins them, and it becomes increasingly more apparent that under Lyanna’s care, the young girl is beginning to pick up many of the traits of her great aunt. 

The first time she was properly introduced to the youngest wolf, the auburn-haired girl had demanded to know who she was. She wasn’t accustomed to having intruders during breakfast and had been displeased at first by Dany’s growing presence. But Lyra had soon warmed up to her, especially when she started to share the sailor’s stories which she had been told during her own childhood. 

She misses the seas sometimes. There is a calling in her heart, a longing to dive into the salty waters and revel in the unruly nature of the waters. She supposes that when she is queen, such things will be prohibited. Daenerys doubts that Jon would tell her outright to not do something, but there is a certain expectation that she _behave_. Most lords would not like their own daughters swimming in the seas, let alone their queen. Maybe she can have one final swim before she settles completely on dry land. 

“I must go. I have arranged to meet with Lady Joanna,” she excuses herself from the table, meeting Lyanna’s gaze as she stands. They both know what this means, they had formed the plan the day before. 

Robb continues to agonise over his options, avoiding both ladies in fear of misleading one or the other. Daenerys hopes that she can get a better understanding of Joanna, who she is and what her intentions are towards Robb and Lyra. 

For whatever reason, Robb seems to value her opinion. 

While walking down the corridor, Daenerys notices her brother and Lady Leona holding hands, both of them dressed for hunting. She has had very little time to check on her brother’s progress, but things do seem to be going far better for him. Perhaps her stern words with Leona did the trick. She doesn’t dislike Leona, she simply doesn’t wish to see her brother messed about by the lady’s tests. There have been many ladies throughout the years who have attempted to capture her eldest brother’s heart, yet he has never offered it to any of them. Although, that has done nothing to dampen their spirits. He has done many times over the same as what Robb has done, although Lucerys has never been honour bound to marry any of them. 

Tyrell roses seem to follow her wherever she walks, they litter the ground and sprout from every available vase. It’s only natural that many of the blooms featured in the festival come from The Reach. 

One small mercy is that Allana has not sought her out since their last altercation. It is exceptionally rare for her to show her face in court, she spends most of her time either confined to her chambers or in her private gardens. It seems a little peculiar, but Daenerys hopes she is just being over suspicious.

She finds Joanna in the gardens sat on a stone bench opposite one of the many ornate stone fountains which are nestled within the greenery. The Lannister Lady is beautiful, unmistakably so. It is easy to see why Robb so was so easily convinced to set aside his honour for the night. Beauty can be disarming, but Joanna could be as poisonous within as she is fair on the outside. 

“Lady Joanna, the morning sun suits you well,” Daenerys comments, noting the way the early morning streaks of light hit the young woman’s golden head of curls. A true lion, one which would likely rival Cersei Lannister’s rumoured beauty. 

“I have really noticed, my lady. I spend most mornings painting, I find it soothing,” Joanna explains, although she has clearly forgone her morning activity in place of meeting with her. 

Daenerys smiles politely, “I have never had much of a talent for painting,” she admits, recalling her poor attempts to replicate her mother’s own artistry. 

“I am sure there are many things which you excel in.” Joanna twists the golden chain around her throat, toying with the lion charm at the end. “Has some rumour reached your ear? Is that why you have called on me today?”

She considers her next words carefully, not wanting to incriminate Robb at this point when they have only just begun to form something of a kinship. But she also doesn’t want Joanna to think that the whole court knows her secrets.

“I know what has happened with you and Lord Stark, although word of it has gone no further. Court can be a lonely place and it can be difficult to know who is your friend, but you can trust me.” 

Joanna looks as though she could burst, as though the knowledge has been building up inside of her, a desperation to finally talk about her feelings to someone.

“I have loved him for so long and I could see him slipping away. He had never even noticed me before and I just wanted to be seen. I knew that if I didn’t act then I would live in regret of not even trying,” Joanna admits, pressing a palm to her forehead. “If anyone finds out, I’ll be ruined. I just wanted to be seen by him even if it was just for a fleeting moment.”

Daenerys grasps Joanna by the hand and drags her deeper into the gardens away from prying eyes. This is definitely not a conversation which needs to be overheard by others, and sometimes even the bushes have ears. 

“It was an incredibly bold thing which you did,” Daenerys says, although there is no judgement in her words. It seems that Joanna was swayed by desire and longing, two things which she can understand. With every passing day, Daenerys finds it more difficult to not give herself to Jon, to form a deeper connection with one another. 

“I have grown up in a family of bravery. I know that my grandfather betrayed the crown, but my father helped to save it. He was a kingslayer and yet no one condemned him, they celebrated him. My father was brave and saved thousands of innocents from being set alight with wildfire. Now my brother always wants to prove that he is just as brave as my father was, and sometimes I worry it’ll get him killed. I think I worry too much about those I love, to ever be brave. I wanted something other than worry, so I decided to just not think and allow myself that one moment to enjoy myself,” Joanna reveals, wringing her hands together. “I loved it and how it made me feel. I think he thought I was some temptress and that such things come easy to me, but I’ve never acted that way in my life. But by the mother did it feel like freedom!” There’s an obvious tint to Joanna’s fair complexion as a blush spreads over her cheeks. 

“You love him but what of Lyra?” Daenerys asks, knowing that to Robb it is the most important thing. He hadn’t loved Roslin Frey, but he adores the daughter that she died bringing into the world. Lyra has already lost a mother, so the woman who becomes Lady Stark needs to be someone who will offer a mother’s love to a motherless child. 

“She is the image of Robb, and so it is very hard not to love her. She once joined me for painting, although the poor thing ended up with more paint on herself than on the canvas. From what I have seen, I don’t believe that she likes to sit still for very long at all and she is very forthcoming with her opinions despite her young age,” Joanna lets out a chuckle, almost as though she has just remembered something. Her smiling lips soon fall back into a straight line, “I am not sure what will be my future, I can only hope that I don’t shame my father.”

Daenerys reaches forward and squeezes Joanna’s hand, “Try not to worry too much. Whatever is meant to be will come to pass and worrying about it won’t change that.” 

“What about you? My brother seems to think that you’re now the king’s mistress,” Joanna pries, her emerald green eyes sparkling with the question. It seems more curious than malicious. 

“His mistress? No, certainly not. I am a friend to him,” Daenerys explains, although it is barely a half-truth. She has not given herself to him yet, but she has every intention of doing so. She doubts she will be his wife when that happens since that eventuality keeps being pushed further and further away. Jon doesn’t provide all the details from his council meetings, but from what he has shared, he is reluctant to announce his divorce when there is increasing noise from across the seas relating to this false Aegon. 

“I know that look in your eye. It’s okay, your secret is safe with me,” Joanna winks, and then begins to fan herself. “It looks as though it is going to be a hot day. Let’s hope we don’t all melt in our Flower Festival costumes tomorrow.”

Once Daenerys leaves Joanna, she makes her way to the King’s chambers. Her visits have been growing recently and while the rumours have not yet started to spiral out of control, more and more people have begun to notice how much time she spends in the King’s company. 

As usual, Ser Barristan is standing outside the chamber door blocking the entrance which is always a good indicator that the king is in there. It’s exceptionally rare to not see the Lord Commander at his post, to the point where Daenerys wonders when he sleeps, eats and bathes. Nevertheless, the older man always looks well-rested and fully alert. 

“Lady Daenerys, you are free to enter,” Ser Barristan says, moving to the side and opening the door for her. She nods her head in silent thanks. 

Daenerys is surprised to see that Jon is not alone. Her brother stands at his side, and they both turn towards her as she makes her way over to where they are standing. It is clear that her presence has ended whatever conversation has just taken place. Lucerys bows his head at Jon, and then walks past her. “Sister,” he says in greeting while heading towards the door. She frowns in confusion but he is gone before she can say anything to him.

“Strange,” she mutters. 

Jon collects her hands within his own grip, holding them softly. “Don’t look too concerned, sweetheart. Your brother was asking for permission to marry Lady Leona of House Rowan.” Her brows arch in surprise, things must be going better for Luc if he is ready to take that step.

“I suppose we have our answer over who will marry first,” Daenerys says, trying to keep her tone light and full of cheer. It can be difficult to not grow impatient with the circumstances. It is not as though she is desperate to get married, like it’s the only thing which can fulfil her. But she feels like until that piece of her future is set in stone, her other options are limited. Only as Queen can she make substantial changes to Flea bottom, which is also in desperate need of a name change. 

“Our time will come soon, I promise. I need to find an appropriate match for Elinor Tyrell first, so that Mace will stop insisting that if I am to divorce Allana, I need to marry Elinor,” Jon explains, running his hands through his hair. It’s clear that he has had a tiresome morning. He’s already removed his jerkin and has bunched the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbows. He looks sinfully delicious stood there in all black, his leather breeches sticking to every curve and muscle in his legs. 

“If you keep looking at me like that then we may not make it to our wedding,” Jon teases, making her chuckle and press her fingers to her lips. 

She clears her throat and takes a seat close to the window, so that she can feel the inviting breeze against her cheek. “Who could be matched with Elinor?”

Jon moves and takes the vacant seat beside her, offering her a glass of wine which she takes. “Elys Lannister, although I am certain he has an interest in Cerella Martell. But I doubt that the Martells would ever accept a Lannister for their Princess, not after what happened with Elia. Giulian Martell is also unmarried, but I’m reluctant to make a match between two families who have growing resentment towards the crown. Lyonel Arryn would be a promising match and there is of course Theon, although I think Robb hopes that Theon will marry Rowena should he choose Joanna. There is also your brother Marston, but the Tyrells may think that I am favouring your family too much.”

Daenerys considers the options in her mind, wondering which will prove the most fruitful. “Speak with Lord Arryn and suggest a match with Elinor Tyrell, offer him a position or title that would flatter him. It would serve Robb better too if Lord Arryn is in a favourable mood. I have spoken with Joanna today and I believe that her actions came only from the heart, she didn’t want to see the man that she loves marry someone else. Unfortunately, while Theon may seem like a natural choice for Robb, I don’t think Lord Arryn would see it as a fruitful match for Rowena. He has spent very little time in the Iron Islands and I don’t believe they would accept him as their ruler, they don’t value loyalty and succession the same way that Starks do.” 

Jon leans forward, clasping his goblet between his hands. “Then who?” he asks with a puzzled expression. “I don’t want to condemn them all to misery, but decisions must be made.” She wonders how many times as King, her soon-to-be husband has had to agree to matches of other people, knowing full well how unfortunate his own marriage is. She thinks of Margaery, who seems to grow increasingly bitter even around friends - not that Daenerys considers the Tyrell rose to be a friend.

Suddenly, a thought strikes her. “Invite Lord Tully to court, he is still unmarried is he not? While I don’t think he is a suitable match for Rowena, it may be beneficial to have him at court. You have said before that Renly Baratheon might take up arms against you should a war start. Margaery Tyrell may need to be remarried at the end of it all, and it is better for her to be joined with someone loyal to the crown.”

“That still leaves Rowena without a husband, which would not please Lord Arryn. He has already started negotiations with Robb, although no vow has been made...thankfully,” Jon rolls his eyes, displaying slight irritation at his cousin’s actions. 

“If you say that the Martells will never accept a Lannister groom, then Elys will be free to marry Rowena. If Joanna marries Robb, Elinor marries Lyonel, Elys marries Rowena and if Edmure marries Margaery, you will have secured several partnerships and ensured loyalty on both sides.” She makes it sound all too simply, but playing the game of thrones is never easy. If the Martells choose to support the pretender, they will have directly betrayed the crown and all their matchmaking will mean very little in the next civil war.

If any of the houses within Dorne act against House Martell, they will be the natural successor to the ruling over the land, and the same can be said for House Baratheon and the Stormlands. Westeros doesn’t need another civil war and if needed, old Houses can be stripped of their land and titles if there is no one loyal in the house to take up the seat. If Prince Guilian Martell does not support his father’s actions, then perhaps he may keep his seat. Only time will tell where everyone’s loyalties lie. 

When Jon touches the side of her face, he looks at her with so much love that it takes her breath away. “This is what I always wanted, a woman who would work with me and not work against me. The crown is a burden and it can be very lonely if you haven’t got anyone to share it with.”

Daenerys cradles his face between her hands and says with complete conviction, “I will always be by your side from now until the end of my days.”

“Good. I have waited many years for you.” He holds out his hand to her and guides her towards the bed. “Come and lay down next to me, I’m not needed in council until later this afternoon.”

Daenerys looks down at the bed and then at Jon who has reclined back against the white sheets, one arm thrown back behind his neck, propping up his head slightly. 

She slips off her shoes and climbs onto the bed beside him, “Only to rest,” she warns both herself and Jon. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her body into the curve of his so that she can nestle into his warmth and find temporary comfort in his embrace. 

Her rest is soon disturbed when she is jolted awake, letting out a surprised cry in alarm. A small body scrambles off the bed giggling, her objective achieved. Daenerys cracks open her eyes and glances over at Jon who is glaring at whoever is standing right in front of the bed.

“Alright, lovers,” Robb’s voice cuts through the silence, forcing her to groan and push her face into the mattress. She realises that it’s Lyra giggling, after having jumped on the bed to wake up her and Jon. Both Starks stand with matching green eyes and auburn hair, grinning from ear to ear. 

“One day I'm going to take your head,” Jon grumbles, stretching out and rising from the bed. He walks over to Lyra and plucks her from the ground, propping her up at his waist. “Is that how one usually wakes the King?” he says teasingly, tipping her forward slightly until she begins to squeal. Daenerys smiles with the hope that she’ll one day see Jon play with their own children. 

Robb comes and stands beside her, the both of them watching Jon and Lyra. “Have you given any thought to who should marry? I don’t know either of them well enough to go off of feeling alone and they both come from respectable families and either way I’ve risked my honour. No formal agreement was made for Rowena’s hand, but my intentions were clear. But I’ve taken Joanna’s innocence and I think that is more damning on my soul,” he sighs, clenching his fists at his sides. “People don’t speak of my father kindly anymore, not after he supported Robert Baratheon in the war. He is shamed in the eyes of many, although Northerners don’t tend to care for the opinions of others anyway. But I want to be an honourable man, and I feel like I’m failing my daughter.”

“It is your decision to make, Robb. I can tell you that your daughter won’t be unhappy if you marry Joanna, but the same could be said for Rowena. Either woman would care for her as a mother,” Daenerys replies, hoping that Robb will make the right decision. 

“I must marry Joanna, then I won’t dishonour her. Some of the Northern Lords may not like a lion among the ranks, but they can bloody well deal with it. I think that once the kingdoms are settled, I will return to the North and take up residence there. I have been in the South for far too long now, and I must eventually become Warden of the North.” 

Daenerys glances up at the Northern Lord sadly, she knows that he must eventually return to the North and that he cannot always be at Jon’s side. She knows it will be a difficult day for Jon when his cousin leaves court, even if he won’t openly admit it. 


	14. Chapter 14

****

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

Light fabric flutters against her arm, blowing in the gentle breeze as she makes her way out of the Red Keep. This time she is escorted by Lucerys, who is with her following strict instructions from Jon that she not leave the grounds without someone who can protect her. She has not dressed in her own costume for the festival yet, since there is a risk of it becoming soiled from the short journey down to the Street of Flour. Daenerys has every intention of keeping her promise to a little girl which had been made several days before. 

The seamstress had made a beautiful gown for little Mary, a light-weight dress of white fabric which is stained with orange watercolour flowers. Hopefully, the little girl will be pleased with the piece, although it is likely the finest thing she will ever wear. Daenerys had also made a visit to the cobbler to have a pair of pretty and practical shoes made for Mary, so that they can be worn daily once the Flower Festival has ended. 

“Why are we doing this again?” Lucerys huffs beside her, forcing her to roll her eyes at his petulance. While Lucerys cares for the wellbeing of the people in the Driftmark, he has always left the improvements to her, mother and Marston. Her brother is many wonderful things but a visionary is not one of them. 

“It is a nice thing to do, Luc. The girl has always wanted to visit the Red Keep and Jo...King Jaehaerys suggested that she be my guest for the day,” Daenerys responds, smoothing over her slip-up. While she can call Jon by his favoured name in private, she must always refer to him as King Jaehaerys in public. She is one of the very few people to have the privilege of being that close to the king, and she certainly does not wish to betray that trust.

“I don’t understand what the big fuss is about for a Flower Festival,” Lucerys says, crossing his arms which makes him appear far broader and more intimidating. 

“Where is your sense of occasion? Are you not intending to ask for Lady Leona’s hand today?” she enquires, recalling the conversation which she had with Jon about her brother and Leona.

Lucerys doesn’t say anything, he just rolls his eyes and takes large strides forward. The streets are already filled with people, and she wonders if there is ever a day when the town is quiet. People flog their wares and tip buckets of waste from their windows, which splatters on the ground near them. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a private dunny, so the mess is thrown out onto the streets, which only adds to the vile smell. 

When she had been on her own, people had looked at her with curiosity and had done very little to shield their gaze from her. Now, with Lucerys at her side, they dare not look in her direction, as if that alone will bring them trouble which they did not ask for. 

“You’re really going to be Queen aren’t you,” Lucerys says suddenly, taking her by surprise. She looks up at him and nods her head curtly. “My little sister, the Queen of Westeros. The King’s Consort.” 

She dreams of being Queen sometimes, and other times she dreams of fire. Her skin ought to melt from the heat, but only her clothes turn to ash and the rest of her is unharmed. It confuses her. She isn’t a Targaryen, that title remains with Jon. 

The Street of Flour is lined with several bakeries, which begins to concern Daenerys. How will she find little Mary? But she needn’t be concerned, the young girl rushes from one of the bakeries squealing in delight, a portly looking man following hastily behind her. Mary launches forward and hugs her side, while those who had previously avoided looking at her, now stare in surprise. 

“Seven hells! I thought she’d made the whole thing up,” the baker exclaims, and then his face grows beet red. “Pardon me, my Lady.”

Daenerys offers an indulgent smile as she pries the young girls’ arms away from her, so that she can present Mary with her new dress. “I am Daenerys Velaryon, and I have come to collect Mary for today’s Flower Festival. I’ll make sure she is returned before dusk,” she tells the baker, wanting to give him some assurance that his daughter will be safe with her, although she wonders how much value can be placed on her word alone. She is a stranger after all, even if she is highborn. “I have a dress for you and some new shoes, I hope they fit.”

Mary takes the dress and presses it up to her petite body, before rushing back into the bakery to go and change into the new frock. 

“Pardon me for askin’, but what do ye want with my Mary?” 

She reaches forward and takes the baker’s hand, ignoring the way Lucerys stiffens at her side. “I will make sure that she is protected while she is in my care. When I met her, she expressed her desire to see the Red Keep and I did not want to refuse her. The King suggested that Mary attend as my guest, and I wholeheartedly agreed.”

The man shoves his hand into his pocket, pulls out a rag and swipes it across his face to get rid of the growing sweat. “The King knows about my Mary...well I never!”

Mary rushes outside twirling in her dress, the silver stitches glistening in the sunlight. “You look just like a little lady!” Daenerys gushes, pleased that the young girl seems happy with the dress. 

Before they head back towards the Keep, Daenerys once again assures the baker than his daughter will be safe in her care. She knows that her word probably counts for very little, although she hopes that the people’s faith in her will increase. They have no love for Queen Allana, but she wants their love and she wants them to love their king too. 

Mary is very talkative and even tries to draw Lucerys into the conversation, although it has little reward. Her brother is too focused on making sure that nobody approaches them, and is unlikely to relax until they’re safely back inside the guarded grounds of the Red Keep. 

“It seems so much bigger up close!” Mary gasps, cupping her hands over her mouth in awe. Large castles have lost their awe-inspiring effect on Daenerys, so the young girl’s reaction is charming. 

Daenerys’ pale hair is plaited intricately, with flowing tendrils framing her face and delicate flowers studded into the hair to match with the theme of the day. Her handmaidens move about the chambers in their own flower festival gowns, while preparing her for the festival. 

All the while, Mary sits on a chair swinging her legs while devouring a lemon cake. 

When Daenerys is finally fitted into her gown, she admires her appearance in the mirror. It is beautifully crafted and the most exquisite gown that she has ever worn. The bodies of her gown cuts daringly low, although embroidered flowers decorate the space to conserve some modesty. It’s a dress which ripples in the wind and billows behind her like a cape. Today she looks like a Queen. 

Bethany fastens the back of her gown where it crosses over, and she can feel the handmaiden’s breath on her bare skin. If Jon should come too close, it would be all the more difficult to deny her desire, should his own breath brush against her skin and send desperate shivers down her spine. 

“You look beautiful,” Bethany whispers, almost appearing too shocked, as Daenerys stares at her through the reflection in the mirror. 

“Do I need a necklace, perhaps?” Daenerys says, wondering if her appearance is missing without one. Bethany shares a look with Serra and then shakes her head.

“No, Lady Daenerys. I do not believe that any of your necklaces would go with your gown and you look beautiful without one,” Bethany says, to Dany’s surprise. 

She decides not to question it and instead motions for Mary to follow, for they can now join the festivities. Her handmaidens follow behind her in a myriad of colours, all with flowers adorning their gowns in some manner. It’s such a joyful day, and there are many hopeful ladies hoping that a suitor may ask for their hand. Myria, the youngest of her ladies, looks to be as enthusiastic and overwhelmed as Mary is. 

The little girl’s hand trembles a little in her own as they walk out into the royal gardens, where ribbon canopies hang from trees and dancers twirl in the centre of a rose-lined stone circle. Daenerys notices Queen Allana, whose expression is far more sullen and unwelcoming than normal. Green eyes shot across the gardens and shock Daenerys in her place, the Queen’s gaze is deadly. 

A maypole stands tall and wrapped in bold colours, with young girls skipping and weaving beneath with long ribbons in their grasp. “Do you want to join them?” Daenerys asks, kneeling down to meet Mary’s eye line. The young girl looks between Daenerys and the maypole, before nodding enthusiastically. The girl is brave and clearly wants to involve herself in the festivities. Daenerys notices that one of Sansa’s daughters is there, along with Lyra, so Mary will be in good company. 

Daenerys smiles to herself as Mary rushes over, picking up one of the spare ribbons. 

Unfortunately, her father seizes the opportunity to approach her as soon as she is alone. Daenerys considers moving away before he can even reach her, although that seems unnecessarily petty. Her father appears as cool-headed and unfazed as ever, as though nothing at all is affecting him. 

He rests his hand against her upper arm, “May I speak with you in private?”

“Sorry father, I need to decline that request. I have no interest in speaking with you.” Daenerys doesn’t even look at him, instead, she focuses all of her attention on the girls dancing under the maypole. She has already given Bethany strict instruction to not let Mary out of her sight, should Daenerys be pulled away unexpectedly. That being said, Daenerys has every intention of spending as much time as possible with the young girl, since Mary is her guest. 

Mary’s honey-blonde hair shines in the sunlight, and her cheeks bloom red, which is likely from moving around so much. But it’s touching to see her laughing with Lyra. She may only be able to welcome Mary into the Keep for a day, so she wants it to be filled with happiness and excitement. 

“As you’ve said, I’m your father and I am still owed your obedience,” her father says, his tone full of more ire than usual. Monford Velaryon’s matching eyes pierce into her’s, snapping her attention away from the dancing children. 

“For now,” Daenerys mutters spitefully, stilling on the spot for a moment. She does not wish to spend time with her father right now, although she wants to cause a commotion even less. Their enemies cannot know that they are on unstable ground, that the cracks have formed in the family and they no longer trust one another as they once did. There was a time when Daenerys would’ve done anything for her father, even if it meant risking her honour and reputation, but no more. “What do you need of me?”

Her father takes a step back, straightens his doublet and crosses his arms. “The King announced in council this morning that he will be meeting with the High Septon once the festival is over, to annul his marriage to Queen Allana.” Despite the stirring of emotions within her, Daenerys doesn’t say anything. It is clear that her father has not finished and she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction yet of knowing that his wishes will soon all be realised, even if her opinion of him has been ruined in the process. “You have told me nothing of your relationship with the king as of late, and your brother claims to not know anything, which I suspect is a lie. King Jaehaerys has not revealed who he intends to marry, but it better be you.”

“Once again, you have not failed to disappoint me,” Daenerys responds quietly, so only her father can hear. Bethany is standing close-by, so it’s entirely possible that her loyal handmaiden has heard. But she knows whole-heartedly that of all her handmaidens, Bethany is one she can trust. “Enjoy the festivities, father,” she says curtly, and then sidesteps past him and moves towards the maypole. Sansa is stood not too far away, her belly appearing almost fit to burst. At her side, Willas stands stroking her back with his free-hand, while his other leans weight onto his wooden walking stick. They appear content and well-matched, something which many couples can only dream of. 

Later, when she is sat with Mary watching the play, she takes the time to drink some sweet summer wine. Every year there is a theatrical play, and while there have been performances centred around Targaryen history, this new one appears more comedic. There is a forest, fairies, and a couple intending to get married, among other things. From what she can tell, the audience appears to be enjoying themselves, Mary included. 

Jon takes a seat beside her, and it’s the first time that she has seen him all day. He leans into her ear and whispers, “You look like a Queen.”

“Your queen?” she whispers back boldly. 

“Aye, you are my queen,” he whispers against the shell of her ear and presses a soft kiss to her neck. Daenerys’ cheeks heat as she glances around at the crowd of people, but their attention is thankfully on the play and not on their king. Only the Kingsguard will have seen since it’s their duty to watch their King and the people around for any potential threats. 

“I have a gift for you,” Jon begins, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a velvet parcel. He lays the item down on the table and motions for her to open it. At the movement, Mary looks her way, her vibrant green eyes full of curiosity. Daenerys looks down at the young girl and then back at the item. Slowly she pulls back the velvet flap and nestled between the fabric is a Mother of Pearl necklace. It is a circle studded with one large pearl, with three droplets hanging down. Thin silver chains hang delicately from the top, and a small seahorse hangs beside the clasp of the necklace, which would presumably rest at the back of her neck. It is a beautiful jewel. “It was discovered in the vaults. It is said to have belonged to one of the Velaryon Queen Consorts, perhaps going back as far as Queen Alyssa.“

“I am not yet your Queen,” Daenerys says quietly, when he reaches forward to pick up the necklace and then fasten it around her neck. At her side, Mary gasps once again and leans up to touch the necklace. 

Jon takes her hand beneath the table and squeezes it tightly. “Soon,” he promises and this time she truly believes him. 

Mary stands up from the table and moves around to sit on the bench beside Jon, all but abandoning Daenerys. She finds it amusing since the girl is obviously curiously. “Your grace,” Mary says chirpily, offering her hand for a shake. Jon momentarily removes his hand from Dany’s grasp to shake the young girl’s hand. 

“Miss Mary,” Jon says, and then returns his hand to Daenerys’ own. She is thankful for the table, otherwise, they would not be able to have this moment of holding hands. To some, their close proximity may seem suspicious, but to others, their king is mingling with his courtiers. Some are far too consumed with their own lives to care if the king has an alleged mistress or not, while others see it as an opportunity to push forward their own daughters. It is as though they believe that if Jon can be tempted by one woman, then he must be tempted by them all. But it is not a fleeting thing between them, it is an all-consuming passion and need. Their hearts beat as one, and he has just been waiting for her. 

Sitting beside Jon, as he talks with Mary gives Daenerys a glimpse into what her future could be. She knows that the path there will not be easy and while the news has been broken to the small council that he intends to remarry, everyone else will need to be told. She cannot help but wonder if word has now reached Allana of the news, and if that is why her gaze is so menacing today. 

“Have you told Allana yet?” Daenerys asks. 

Jon looks back at her, his body going rigid as he gives her a tense nod of his head. 

**_SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER_ **

**JAEHAERYS ( JON )**

He dislikes having to seek Allana out, since he would rather avoid her company entirely. But if he is to set aside his marriage, the words must come from his own mouth. He will not be the coward to hide behind the members of the small council, who will undoubtedly speak with Allana on the matter. As a man, Jon is not entirely certain that she is deserving of his honour, but as a King, Jaehaerys must respect what time they did spend together in union - even if it felt like they were always at war.

Jaehaerys takes a deep breath and knocks firmly on the chamber door. The Queen’s chambers are so very far from his own, and not in their original place. Allana had said that she wanted rooms on the opposite side of the castle, claiming to have preferred the light that side, rather than the larger and more opulent chambers of her predecessors. At the time, he had been willing to please her if it meant that they could have a harmonious start to their marriage. But now he sees that she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. 

One of Allana’s handmaidens opens the door, her face as equally unwelcoming as her mistress’. “Your Grace,” the woman says, likely more out of routine than respect. Those Tyrell roses are insufferable at times, even if he does not wish to condemn them all just because his marriage is at an end. 

Mace Tyrell is likely still reeling from the news. Although a conversation with Sansa and Willas the night before assured Jaehaerys that he would still have their support from House Tyrell. It is Willas’ Uncle, Allana’s father, that will be the most difficult to appease. He has spoken with Lyonel Arryn about marrying Elinor, and he was accepting of the offer, even if he had a few conditions of his own. Nothing too concerning, a few minor contracts with the crown to ensure that House Arryn thrives in the coming years. Lyonel had been displeased by the news that Robb would not be taking Lady Rowena’s hand, and didn’t want to make any promises regarding Elys Lannister. He said he would speak with his sister on the matter. It makes Jon feel silly to be planning so many marriages, even if they are all for the sake of peace.

When Jaehaerys steps inside the chambers, fully embodying his kingly persona and shedding the more vulnerable sides of Jon, his iron-grey eyes settle on Allana. She is laughing with Lord Gorman Massey, and while it should not bother him, there is a small part of it which does. Only because he can never recall a time when she has ever laughed in his presence, reiterating the point that she never once tried with their marriage. 

“Lord Massey, leave us. I would like to have a private word with the Queen,” he says coldly, refusing to use the word ‘wife’. It seems ineffectual now. The Lord scrambles to his feet, almost diving off of the chair as he gives him a quick bow and then hurries from the chambers, almost as though his breeches have been set alight.

“If only I could run away too,” Allana says with a dark laugh, waving her jug of wine in the air as she fills her wine glass to the brim and swallows it down quickly. “To what do I owe the displeasure, Jaehaerys?”

“Allana,” he says seriously, although that does not make her meet his gaze. She could not show him any less respect than she already does, and if she were a man, he’d have had her pelted in the streets with rotten food long ago. He is not eager to cause death, although he has swung his sword on several men in the past when they’ve publicly disrespected him. In private he can tolerate their insolence, but in public that needs to be controlled. He does not wish for his people to fear him, but he does need them to follow him.

“For fuck sake Allana, would you look at me?” Jaehaerys says with a huff, struggling to contain his growing irritation as it surfaces in her company.

Eventually, Allana looks up at him with a bored expression. She moves over to where he is stood and curls her hands around his cloth-covered arms, her eyes latched onto his. It feels poisonous to be this close to her now when there were many times when he hoped that she would let him be close to her. In the first few years of marriage, she allowed him to visit her bed once a week in hopes of conceiving a child and then dismissed him not long after he’d finished. He even visited a brothel in secret and asked for their advice on how to please a woman. But that only seemed to annoy her more, so he stopped trying to prolong the experience and she seemed happier that way. “Is this enough attention for you or do you need me to stroke your cock?”’

“Allana, our marriage is at an end. I will be obtaining an annulment in the coming days. You will be stripped of your title as Queen Consort, and you will be referred to as Lady Allana…”

“Look who finally became a man!” she spits cruelly interrupting him, her fingers biting into his arm as she brushes past him. “It seems all it took was a pretty little whore for you to finally admit that you failed in this fucking marriage. She’s just using you for power, she is interested in your affection. Who could ever love you?” She whispers something else under her breath, but he cannot make out her words. 

It takes all the strength inside of him not to retaliate, especially when she refers to Daenerys as a whore. He has no interest in this becoming a verbal sparring match, it will only make him feel worse about the situation. “You are welcome to stay at court for a few moons, but I do ask that you return to Highgarden after that.”

“Do you wish to throw me away like a dirty secret, never to be spoken about?” she questions, purring in his ear harshly. She slithers past him again like a snake, her movements meticulous as she curls about and then sits on the edge of her small table. 

“What could you possibly gain from staying at court longer than that?”

“What indeed...” 

Allana says it in a way that sends warning shivers down his spine. At this point, he would not put anything past his soon to be ex-wife. As both a King and a man in love, Jon knows that he needs to make sure that Daenerys is protected at all costs.

  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be more plot in this chapter. Instead, you got...

**311 AC**

**King’s Landing**

Over the past few moon turns, Daenerys has realised that her patience definitely has its limits. Thankfully, she has never claimed to be a saint, and so she thinks it’s completely justified for her to pace the length of the grand chambers, acting almost like a mad-woman. It has been far too many turns on the sundial and Jon is not yet back from the Sept, after arranging to speak with the High Septon. This is the day when everything will truly change! The marriage binding Jaehaerys Targaryen and Allana Tyrell will be severed, leaving Jon free to follow his heart. 

When Daenerys retired for the evening following the Flower Festival, after escorting Mary back home to her father’s bakery, she had found it very difficult not to go to the King’s chambers. She wanted to be bound to him, to feel his hands upon her skin and the weight of his body against her own. She dreamt of making love, of being claimed by Jon over and over again until she woke up in a hot sweat. Daenerys had longed for the cool waters then, to dive beneath the surface and feel the fluttering tails of the fish against her legs. 

Once she had broken her fast, Daenerys had hastened over to Jon’s chambers, only to find them empty. The guards had allowed her inside, and she had almost regretted entering at all. For she now waits for him to return, hopeful that his marriage will have been annulled. 

She flops back on the bed with a defeated sigh, boredom overtaking her thoughts. Why can it not be a quick matter? It is not as though Queen Allana is well-loved. In fact, she seems to have delighted in causing people misery over the years - although Daenerys can truly not understand why. It’s as if she has held an unspoken hatred and bitterness towards the world and it’s been left to fester until it consumes her every thought. Never once has Daenerys seen Allana smile happily, it has only ever been with malice.

Daenerys thinks back to Mary, who had been very tearful when she had left to return back to the Keep. She supposes that for the young girl, the fairytale is at an end. But she has no intention of never seeing Mary again. On the contrary, Daenerys hopes that she will be able to foster many children in the Keep, to teach them skills so that she can better themselves. The King is well respected, beloved, but the position of the Queen has been lacking for many years. It is time that they make a better world for the people of Westeros. 

“You are waiting on a man, Daenerys. You swore to yourself that you would not be one of those foolish girls,” Daenerys grumbles to herself, staring up at the decorated canopy of Jon’s grand bed. But Jon isn’t just any man, he is the King, and he has never made her feel less for being a woman. He has shown respect for all of her ideas and welcomes her conversations about change. She believes that she can build that better world for their children, and their children’s children. 

When the latch on the door unhooks, Daenerys springs up from the bed and glances wildly over to where Jon stands in the doorway. He holds two letters in his hands, and cannot help but wonder what they contain. 

“The High Septon cannot half harp on,” Jon proclaims, dropping the letters on the table as he marches over to where she is sat on the edge of his bed. “There are only so many lyrical phrases I can take for one day,” he grumbles, wrapping his arms around her. He pulls her tightly against him, breathing into her neck and hair. 

Daenerys staunches the urge to question him immediately, instead allowing him to cradle her body against her own as if she is his lifeforce. 

“I have received troubling news,” Jon says, and her stomach drops. She feels as though someone has crushed all her hopes and dreams before her very eyes. She now fears that the High Septon has refused the King’s request, and his marriage to Allana will endure.

“You are still married?” Daenerys asks carefully, pulling away from his grasp. She will not succumb to the weakness which grows with her, the urge to scream and cry. If they are not to be together, let it be said now before she relinquishes her heart even further. She could still move on, choose duty over love and marry some well-positioned noble. It would not be the same, but she could make sure that the people of the land are well taken care of. 

“Believe me, that news would not be troubling...it would be plain tragic,” Jon grunts, moving back to pluck one of the letters from the table. A signed parchment confirming that his marriage to Allana is over. “We must not reveal it yet. There are several things which must be settled first before the whole court can be informed of this change.”

Daenerys frowns as she stares down at the other letter, “Then what is the troubling news?” she questions. 

Jon sighs and straightens out the second letter. Instead of passing it to her, he begins to read it out loud…

_“To my bastard brother and usurper Jaehaerys, you are unworthy of the crown you hold and the Seven do not favour you, you have a childless bed and an unstable realm. I have waited many years for this moment, but I will take all that you hold dear for my own, and slay your whore mother. May the dragons dance once more. Aegon VI Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”_

“Jon,” she whispers, her eyes filling with alarm. Danger is coming, and it is coming very soon. 

“Do not worry, Daenerys. I will get rid of this pretender, the one they call Griff and expose him for the false dragon that he is. My brother died many years ago,” Jon scrunches up the letter and throws it across the room. “I never cared for ruling the Kingdom, I didn’t want it growing up. But I knew that it was my duty and I always try to be a man of my word. My rule is not perfect, but I’m not giving the crown which my father fought for, up to some fookin pretender.”

He sits on the end of his bed and puts his head into his hands. He just looks tired and ready for peace. Jon told her not long ago that it can be a lonely thing to be a King, even if he does have Arthur Dayne by his side. There is a lot of respect between the Hand and the King, and Daenerys is certain that they can fight whatever comes their way.

“Then don’t. You fight and you live, and we create a better world,” Daenerys responds sternly, catching his face between her hands. “You will win! You’re a fighter Jaehaerys Targaryen!” 

He leans forward and seals his lips against her own, devouring her mouth with his all-consuming fire. His hand encircles her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She touches him without restraint, circling her arms around his neck and melting her body into his own. 

They had kissed many times before, but this feels different. In the past they have been cautious, knowing that he was still fully married and doing so would be damning for both of them. But now he is free and while they are not yet married. Daenerys does not wait any longer to be his. 

Hands squeeze her arse as she rocks in his lap, drowning in his kisses. She gasps when he breaks the seal of their lips and kisses under her chin and then slowly down her neck, creating a flushed path. When he pushes the fabric off her gown from her shoulder and kisses her there, she shudders in surprise. 

Jon stops what he is doing and looks up at her, clearly at war with himself. “We should wait,” he reasons, resting his head against her shoulder. The loosened strands of his hair, which came out from her running her hands over his raven strands, tickle her arm, and she shakes her head in response. “We have waited and you are no longer married. Soon enough I will be your wife, and this will just be the first of many.”

It doesn’t take any more convincing for Jon to grip her by the arms and swing his body over, so that she is lying beneath him on the bed. He hovers above her, settling his legs on either side of her. A flutter of nerves grows in her belly, although that is soon remedied by Jon’s longing kisses. He claims her lips once against his own, and then begins to deepen it, sliding his tongue into her mouth and devouring her. 

Daenerys rests her arms on his back and pulls him closer, unsure what else to do. She has never been with a man before, so he is significantly more experienced than her. Despite the many stories which Alyssa has given her, her mind now refuses to remember anyway of them. _Feel don’t think_ , she tells herself in her mind. Jon will guide her, he knows what to do. 

“Are you okay?” Jon asks, pulling away from her. His gaze seems to consume her, shocking her still as she struggles to stiffly nod her head.

“Yes, I am just thinking,” Daenerys responds, and then cringes. Maybe telling him that she is thinking too much is not the way to entice him to have sex with her. 

He nods at her and begins to undo the ties of her gown, “Then I need to shift your focus.”

The silks of her pale blue gown are peeled away from her body, exposing her pale skin. She shudders beneath his gaze, her nipples pebbling with desire. She is laid bare before him, and instead of feeling vulnerable, she feels treasured. His eyes are warm against her skin, heating her from in the inside out until she is practically trembling beneath him with want. 

“You are so very beautiful. I wonder how you taste.” Her eyes widen with shock when he presses a kiss in the collum between her breasts, and the slides his wet tongue across her skin. The cool air seems to cling to those areas, sending small excited tremors down her spine. When he flicks his tongue over one of her nipples, her legs jolt in surprise and she curls her hands at her sides. 

He gives attention to both breasts, licking, sucking and teasing. Desire continues to pool in her belly and she is almost certain that there is now wetness between her legs, likely seeping into the discarded fabric of her gown. She lifts her fingers to her mouth, concealing a moan. 

Jon shakes his head at her. “Let me hear you, Dany.”

She feels him kiss down her belly slowly, and it squeezes in anticipation. Alyssa once told her about the Lord’s Kiss, although she did say that very few men liked to do it to their wives - but they weren’t very good husbands. 

His hands smooth down her thighs, turning it to gooseflesh as she once again shudders in anticipation for what will happen next. 

Hot breath flushes over her skin, blowing between her legs, sending sharp shivers down her spine. His lips edge their way over, starting at her thighs and climbing to the needy heat which quivers and glistens with desire. When Jon takes his first taste, Dany’s back arches of the bed, assaulted by an entirely new sensation. She had tried touching herself in the past but had never been able to feel really good from it. 

Jon feasts on her hungrily with his arms wrapped around her legs, holding the wide and open for him. Daenerys gasps as her body ascends to new heights, being manipulated by Jon’s skilled mouth. When his tongue teases her engorged bundle of nerves, she feels a surge of pleasure. The manly groans coming from Jon only seem to turn her on more, and she finds herself squeezing her breasts, desperate to hold onto something. 

“It’s coming,” she gasps, uncertain of exactly what _it_ is. This only seems to spur Jon on, as he flicks his tongue more rapidly and squeezes her thighs tighter. She grinds against his lips, chasing the high which takes over her body until she reaches her peak and comes with a loud moan. His lips are still on her while she rides out the waves of pleasure, her body spasming so that she can feel the tingle even in the tips of her fingers.

When Jon pulls away and looks up at her, she can see that his beard glistens, which makes her cheeks heat. Daenerys isn’t sure what to say, so she lies there almost in shock from what just happened. He climbs back up her body and she realises how unfairly clothed he is, compared to her. 

“Take of your clothes,” she demands, lifting one shaky arm behind her head so that she can get a better view as he undresses in front of her. First, he pulls off his doublet, and then his wine coloured shirt, which exposes his chiselled chest to her. Daenerys licks her lips taking in the glorious sight of her king, who is lean but muscular. She watches as he kicks off his boots and reaches for the buttons on his leather breeches. 

Daenerys holds her breath and watches as he pulls down his breeches, revealing his toned thighs and thick cock which bobs with his movements. Her breathing deepens as she takes in the full sight of him.

Jon lies next to her once again, brushing the hair from her face. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she knows that he is giving her one last time to say no. “What if I get you pregnant?”

She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, nesting her face against his. “What is meant to be will be,” she says, not wanting to fear something which they both hope will happen one day. Within a couple of moons, the will be wed, and it won’t matter if she conceives a child now or in several months. What matters is that they are together.

He moves to sit between her legs, and she feels the nerves rise within her again. Slowly he teases her with the tip of his cock, taking the time to relax her. She tries her best not to tense when he eases into her, trying to get used to the strange stretch as her innocence is taken. Daenerys lets out a whimper once he’s fully seated, and while it certainly does not hurt half as much as she expected it to, there is a sting. 

Daenerys feels Jon wipe away a tear she didn't realise she’d shed, and for a moment they just lie there and breathe one another in.

Once the pain has subsided, Daenerys shifts her hips beneath him, encouraging him to move. His thrusts are careful, deliberate and he takes her slowly, although he seems to hit deeper with every thrust. They hold each others gaze and fall into the motions of lovemaking.

It has finally happened, she has given herself mind, body and soul. If it were anyone else, she’d have guarded herself for the rest of her life. But Jon has shown time and time again how much he values every part of her, especially her support and ideas. She will be a true queen. 

His hand moves between their bodies, finding purchase between her legs. He strokes the bundle of nerves and pleasure overtakes the discomfort of being stretched for the first time.

She flutters around him, legs quivering at his sides. Tingles spread down her spine and pool in the pit of her belly. The feeling is coming again, she can feel it brewing beneath her skin with every deliberate rock of his hips. She clings to his shoulders, drowning in the motions while moaning into his mouth. It’s intoxicating and liberating, she’s being pushed so far that she feels like flying. It’s so close and she can almost touch it. 

The dam breaks and her back arches from the bed carried away by the feeling exploding in her body. 

“Ohhh,” she cries out, unable to form any other word. 

Jon’s movements grow irregular, drawing out her own pleasure until he surges forward with one final thrust and spends himself inside her with a grunt. He pants against her neck, the weight of his body almost crushing her into the bed. 

Eventually, Jon pulls away from her and moves away from the bed, leaving her lying there naked and vulnerable. For a moment she doesn’t know what to think, but he returns seconds later with a damp cloth, which he swipes gently between her legs.

Daenerys blushes, although she is not often accustomed to bashfulness. 

“How do you feel?” Jon asks, lying down beside her after discarding the cloth. He scoops her into his arms, his stormy grey eyes bearing into her own watery gaze. 

“I want to do that more often,” she says in a joking manner, although she is deadly serious. Now she finally understands why Alyssa is candid about such things. “Perhaps we should have some oysters next time,” Daenerys jokes, remembering how they had flirted with one another at the time. 

She grows sleepy in his arms, especially when he tugs the sheets over their naked bodies and his breath evens out. 

Dreams of fire flash behind her eyelids, coating over her skin and warming her. She is unharmed despite the dangerous heat which has burned others around her. Daenerys stands upon the pyre, and glances over at the other prisoners who have all been charred, the last of their screams having died out.

Daenerys jolts from her sleeping position with a start, her body covered in sweat. Her heart hammers so loudly in her chest, she feels as though it may explode. Strong arms wrap around her, holding her close as she tries to catch her breath. Reassuring words are whispered into her ear, and she wills herself to calm down.

“What is it?” Jon asks, once her breathing has become more normal. 

“It was just a dream,” Daenerys reassures him, climbing from the bed. She winces slightly from the movement and picks up her soiled gown, which bears unmistakable stains. “This needs to be burned,” she says, dropping it on the ground. 

“Who is your most trusted handmaiden?”

Bethany, most definitely. Serra can also be trusted, but she is often followed by the new handmaiden Meria...who has definitely not earned her trust yet. 

“Bethany Follard,” she responds with a curious glance.

She watches as Jon opens the chamber door slightly, and speaks with the standing guard. 

Not too long after, a new gown is delivered for Daenerys. Jon also has the bath filled, although she hides behind the dressing screen while the maids are in the chambers. She cannot wait until she no longer has to hide, where it will not be an odd thing for her to lie in her husband’s chambers and openly show him love. Once his annulment is announced, they will not have to fear exposure so much, although they have been growing increasingly more careless. 

Daenerys has not heard any rumours, but they may still be rising among the cort circles. 

Releasing a moan as she lowers herself into the tub, she catches the way Jon is staring at her. “What is it?” she frowns softly, concerned that she has done something wrong.

“I did not think it was possible to love you any more than I already do. But I find something new every single day,”

Daenerys grins up at him, “Are you sure you’re not a poet?” she teases.

She feels water being flicked over her and she squeals in surprise. Jon climbs into the bath behind her and wraps his arms protectively around her. They may have a big fight ahead of them, but they have each other and maybe love can conquer all. 


End file.
